


the fall of icarus

by doitsushine92



Series: nct supernatural series [6]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fallen Angels, M/M, Urban Fantasy, take a shot every time someone cries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23864857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitsushine92/pseuds/doitsushine92
Summary: Falling isn't as they depict in human paintings. No one kicks you out of Heaven, there are no swords aimed at your back. There is no ball of fire as your body plummets to Earth and no giant crater left on the ground. There are no wings, pristine white stained black with disgrace and sin. There is no voice of God, loud and potent as it rings around the Heavenly court, condemning you to an eternity of torture or misery. That isn’t his thing, either way.There is darkness. A darkness that overwhelms you, overpowers your very being, making it impossible to tell if your eyes are open or closed. Not that it would make a difference. Then comes the weightlessness, and you believe you no longer exist. You don’t believe you ever did, how could you? Not when your body is gone, and along with it are gone all the sensations that might have proven your existence. There is nothing: no sounds, no tastes, and no light. Even your consciousness fades on and off, like the ebbing of the tide and you do believe this is it. This is the end of the line, the final call, and you make your peace with it.or, yangyang fucks up. kunhang and dejun pay the price.
Relationships: Liu Yang Yang/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Xiao De Jun | Xiao Jun
Series: nct supernatural series [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1226729
Comments: 38
Kudos: 173





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> hello! first, warnings: there is a lot of blood in the first chapter, as well as semi-graphic descriptions of torture, injury and vomiting (it sounds way worse than it is, though!)
> 
> at last, the final installment of the supernatural series... For real this time lol. i am really excited for this arc, i have it all played out in my head, and it should be around 5 chapters long; this is just the prologue, which is why it's short, the other chapters will be longer
> 
> also!!! i had trouble deciding how to spell hendery's name... i settled for kunhang but let me know if i should change it!!

Falling isn't as they depict in human paintings. No one kicks you out of Heaven, there are no swords aimed at your back. There is no ball of fire as your body plummets to Earth and no giant crater left on the ground. There are no wings, pristine white stained black with disgrace and sin. There is no voice of God, loud and potent as it rings around the Heavenly court, condemning you to an eternity of torture or misery. That isn’t his thing, either way.

There is darkness. A darkness that overwhelms you, overpowers your very being, making it impossible to tell if your eyes are open or closed. Not that it would make a difference. Then comes the weightlessness, and you believe you no longer exist. You don’t believe you ever did, how could you? Not when your body is gone, and along with it are gone all the sensations that might have proven your existence. There is nothing: no sounds, no tastes, and no light. Even your consciousness fades on and off, like the ebbing of the tide and you do believe this is it. This is the end of the line, the final call, and you make your peace with it.

Just in time for the pain to come. A pain like no other you've ever felt before, so excruciating it takes less than a second for you to wish you were dead. It spreads from the base of your nape to your tailgate, filling your veins with fire and replacing your blood with gasoline. It rips everything away, leaving anguish in its wake.

~

Kunhang opens his eyes, blinking slowly, and has to close them again almost immediately. The sunlight harms his eyes. He groans and furrows his eyebrows, wishing the sun would let up. Even through closed eyelids, he can feel the burn of the light. 

There's a bird close by, singing a song to which only it knows the tune. In that short second he could see, Kunhang noticed the trees around him. Underneath his body, there's grass and twigs, some of which poke harshly at his skin. He flexes his fingers, grabbing fistfuls of grass, and that's when he feels the pain again.

He'd forgotten about the pain. Well, he isn't making that mistake again, not anytime soon. It flares through his core and makes him cry out. Tears spring to his eyes and slip out from underneath his closed eyelids, one after the other, a torrent of sorrow. 

_I wish I was dead. Oh, I wish I were never born_.

It’s his only thought, the only coherent thought at the very least, the only thing he can recognize beyond the misery. The fervent wish for something, someone, anything to take away this. This awful, clawing sensation. 

Kunhang doesn’t know how much time passes as he lies there. He cries until the tears stop, but the pain remains, and all he can do is clench his teeth and bear through it. He thinks he must have passed out, because the next time he opens his eyes, it’s darker than before. The sun is still up, but it isn’t directly above him anymore.

The pain, although it hasn’t lessened, is in the backburner. Now, his mind focuses on something entirely different, much more important: where are Dejun and Yangyang? 

Kunhang lifts his head, slowly as so to not disturb his back too much, and doesn’t see anything that could offer any clues as to where he is or where they are. Beyond him are trees, then more trees, and then some more trees. He does notice, perhaps belatedly, that he’s naked. Okay. That would explain the chill.

Taking a deep breath to steal his nerves, Kunhang plants his hands on the ground and pushes himself up. A sharp stab of pain makes him scream, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone around to hear him, so he doesn’t hold it back. The mere act of sitting up drains him of his energy and as he sits there, panting and sweating, he has to blink black spots out of his eyes. To his right, a bush rustles and a squirrel scampers out. Kunhang pays it no mind. His teeth grind together as another wave of heat pulses down his spine.

There is no question as to what is causing the pain. He feels distinctly bare, exposed, and it isn’t because of his lack of clothes. There’s a certain weight, one that he never noticed or minded before, that is gone now. 

A bead of sweat trails down his temple. Kunhang tries to steady his breathing and fails, whimpering as his back is set on fire. He’s crying again, biting down on his cheek until he tastes blood in his mouth. There is no way this pain will ever stop.

As his hands grope the earth around him, he touches something hard and sharp. He grabs it and holds it up to his face for examination, but it’s hard when his sight is so blurry. When his eyes readjust, he sees he’s holding a rock. The edges are sharp and he accidentally nicks his finger on one side, a trail of blood leaking out.

Kunhang drops the rock as soon as he notices his hand inching up. The fright of what he was about to do mutes the pain for a second, long enough for him to stand up in haste. His muscles tremble and he stumbles, nearly falling to his knees, but he regains his footing at the last second.

He’s still thinking about his partners. It seems that his worry is the only thing strong enough to drive the pain to the back of his mind, and he holds onto that for dear life. Quickly realizing he hunched over, Kunhang straightens as best as he can and forces himself to spin in a circle. As he turns around, he notices he isn’t as deep into the forest as he thought he was. 

There seems to be some sort of clearing a few hundred feet away from where he is now, and in it a barn. It looks abandoned, but the red double doors are open wide. Kunhang can’t see anyone around and makes a split second decision. 

At first, every step hurts. It takes him far too long to take three steps forward, and then he has to stop and breathe because it feels like his bones have turned to nothing inside him. His thighs shake with the effort of holding him up. Another couple of steps and he has to stop again. Then another few more, and once again halts.

It takes him forever to reach the clearing. Kunhang has to stop far too many times, and not just because of the pain. In fact, after a while, the pain in his back mutes, almost gone – he’s certain it’s just the adrenaline helping him move forward, though. No, it isn’t just the pain. It’s also the unevenness of the path, which causes him to trip and slide to the ground more than once. And each time, without fail, it will not only disturb his wounds, but also cause more. He has bruises on his knees for every trip and his feet bleed from one too many stumbles over rocks.

Once out of the woods, Kunhang darts frightened eyes around him. As soon he takes the next step, anything that might shield him from sight will be gone. He doesn’t worry too much about being naked – although he becomes more and more aware of such thing the colder it gets – but he does worry others will see him. However, a quick scan of his surroundings quells that fear: there doesn’t seem to be a road anywhere around him, and the barn is very clearly abandoned.

Kunhang moves. He can’t be quick, or stealthy, but knowing he isn’t in danger of strangers finding him allows him to keep moving at his previous pace. He tries holding back the tears, fruitlessly, and finds he is weeping when every step makes the wounds in his feet open further. Not to mention, whatever it was that dulled the pain in his back earlier is now gone. 

What seems to be a hundred feet from the barns, Kunhang collapses to his knees. He can’t keep moving. It hurts too much. He cries, pitiful whimpers leaving his lips and fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Kunhang chokes on a sob, sniffs and cries harder, hugging his arms close to his body. 

As he hunches over, his back burns and Kunhang screams in agony. He screams until his throat is raw and he cannot possibly produce more sounds, then some more. He feels miserable, cold and, what hurts the most, what makes everything much more unbearable than it is, he’s alone.

Faintly, he registers a drop of rain landing on the tip of his nose. It takes a second for him to realise what it means, and his mind starts screaming at his body to move before it rains. Kunhang stiffens, by all means prepared to stand up and run towards the open doors of the barn, but his legs simply refuse to move. Kunhang grips the dirt underneath him – not grass, not anymore – and grits his teeth, yet his body stays right where it is.

The rain patters around and on him. The water sips into his wounds, mixing with the blood he doesn’t doubt is there, and Kunhang throws up. He doesn’t know what he’s throwing up, the chunks of… whatever it is, worsening the damage to his throat. Some comes out his nose and he’s certain a good portion of it is now on his lap, but that doesn’t pose any kind of relevance in the grand scheme of things. The rain watches it away, eventually, so it’s taken care of.

A buzz rings in his ears. The tears blur his sight, as does the rain, and he closes his eyes. He could move. But what would be the point in that? There’s nothing he can do. He’s alone, wounded, useless. Alone.

A hand grips his shoulder. Kunhang jerks back in surprise and opens his eyes to see - Dejun? 

“Dejun?” Kunhang voices his thoughts. He’s sure he’s dreaming, some sort of hallucination before the end. 

Except the hand squeezes, gently, and the voice that answers him is familiar. Familiar and safe. 

“Yes. It’s me,” Dejun soothes him, even if his voice cracks on the last word. His other hand moves to cradle Kunhang’s jaw and Kunhang leans into the touch, crying for a whole new reason now. Not even the rain can make this small moment of joy disappear. “It’s me, I’m here.”

Kunhang allows himself – the two of them – another few seconds to relish in the comfort of one another before he asks, “Yangyang? Is he… is he with you?” 

For one horrible moment, he thinks Dejun’s silence is because Yangyang isn’t with him. He thinks it’s because Yangyang is dead, or worse, and he doesn’t want to hear anything like that.

“He is,” Dejun says at last, and the relief he feels is short lived as Dejun continues, “but he isn’t well. Come on, let’s go inside.”

Dejun drags him to his feet. Kunhang lets him manhandle him so that his arm is around Dejun’s shoulder, and has a second to ponder how Dejun can move so well before his fingers accidentally brush something wet, warm on Dejun’s back, and his fellow angel – not anymore – stiffens and holds back a cry. 

Somehow, they trudge toward the barn. Kunhang dreads every step forward, and the way his shoulder stretches taut so Dejun can carry him brings a new wave of pain that he hadn’t felt before. Dejun, sweet Dejun, doesn’t make a noise of complaint, even as Kunhang accidentally grazes his wounds. Neither makes a noise as the rain hits their exposed wounds.

Night has fallen when they reach the doors. Dejun propels him those last inches forward and then Kunhang is under the roof, free from the rain, and it feels like absolution. That is, until he spots the small, curled body in a corner, and the floor gives underneath him.

With more strength than he thought he had, Kunhang stumbles toward Yangyang. Dejun is behind him, although he doesn’t have as much urgency as Kunhang does, perhaps because he knows Yangyang’s condition.

Carefully, Kunhang kneels beside his friend. Yangyang is shivering and sweating at the same time, and Kunhang can see the way his eyebrows scrunch together from his vantage point. However, what makes Kunhang choke on a sob is the state of Yangyang’s back.

The holes where his wings were are deep and still bleeding. Blood trickles out of the open wounds and soaks the wooden floor where he lies. The edges are black and even in the darkness of the barn Kunhang can see the beginning of an infection. There is nothing near them that they could use to stop it.

That isn’t the worst part, however. Because Kunhang and Dejun were accomplices to his crimes, they were exiled, their wings ripped out of their backs before they fell. Yangyang didn’t get away so easily.

In addition to the two larger wounds, the places where the whip struck his body are oozing with blood as well. There have to be over twenty lacerations, each more vicious than the last. Kunhang remembers the guardian chosen to deliver the punishment, how his eyes were steely and his factions completely shut off as he did his job, regardless of Yangyang’s pained screams.

Kunhang will never forget as Yangyang’s whip – the very same one he’d recently tamed – was handed off to the guardian and it crackled to life, the sparks that flew around them with each hit. The grip on his forearms as he and Dejun were held back from covering Yangyang’s body, curled up much as he is now, as they’d tried to do before. Yangyang had looked so painfully small while he kneeled on the open court, guardian angels all around them to ensure it all went smoothly. None of their friends was there, and Kunhang still doesn’t know how he feels about that.

He hesitates before touching Yangyang’s shoulder. Yangyang jerks upon contact, terrified on instinct, but his eyes focus on Kunhang and his face softens. Kunhang moves his hand to Yangyang’s head instead, mindful of how close it was to the wounds, and he brushes a strand of hair away from his fringe.

“Hi,” Kunhang whispers. Beside him, Dejun drops to his knees as well and, as carefully as he can, moves Yangyang’s head so it’s cushioned on his lap. The movement jostles him, of course, but Yangyang presses his lips together and doesn’t make a sound. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

“You too,” Yangyang attempts a smile. It’s more of a grimace but the sentiment is there. “I thought – when Dejun said you weren’t here…”

“I know,” Kunhang shushes him, petting his hair. He doesn’t want to agitate Yangyang further. “I thought the same thing. Waking up in that clearing, I didn’t see you anywhere.”

Yangyang gives a full body shudder, perhaps product of the fever – his skin is boiling – and it causes his wounds to hurt. Dejun caresses the line of Yangyang’s jaw, over and over, until Yangyang falls asleep. Kunhang’s tears drip on his skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“What are we gonna do?” Kunhang asks shakily. “What are we gonna do?”

Dejun shakes his head. “I don’t know. We can’t move him – we can’t even move ourselves. You and I are healing, even if it’s slow, but he isn’t.”

It’s true. Kunhang can feel it, little by little; how his bleeding isn’t as it was earlier in the day. It is nowhere close to how an angel would heal, but it’s faster than a human’s is. However, Yangyang’s injuries don’t seem to be getting better.

“We don’t have clothes,” Kunhang adds. “Or food. Or water.”

Their situation would seem hopeless to anyone else. But if there’s anything Kunhang refuses to lose, and he’s lost a lot, he’s lost his home, his wings, his immortality; he refuses to lose his hope. 

“Right now, he’s our priority,” Dejun says firmly. “We make sure Yangyang is warm, dry and as comfortable as we can get him. Once we figure out a way to bandage his wounds, and ours, we think of our next move.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kunhang tries to smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He knows Yangyang did something bad. He knows that, technically speaking, this is the proper punishment, for all of them. But it’s so hard to remember that sometimes, especially seeing Yangyang smiling for first time in a week, as small as it is._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is for mary 💚 thank you for being such an amazing friend

“You didn’t… crash through there, did you?”

Dejun follows Kunhang’s eyes to the ceiling. Above the haystacks is a hole on the roof, barely big enough for a bird to fit through it. Given its position, it’s understandable why Kunhang would be worried, but it is also impossible for either of the two to fit through the hole. He doesn’t say that to him because he doesn’t know how to say it without sounding sarcastic.

“That was there when we got here,” Dejun shakes his head. “It might be a problem, though, especially if it rains again.” The last time it rained, the barn became too cold for comfort, even with the doors closed. It took both their efforts to close them, and it left them with sharp pain and reopened wounds that had taken their sweet time closing.

“Or if it snows,” Kunhang adds. They share concerned gazes, which quickly shift from one another to the curled up Yangyang a few feet away. He’s sleeping again, though fitfully, and they’d covered him as best as they could with hay. His wounds, however, are still on display, and looking worse for wear. They had to move him further inside, because what little sun filters through the open doors was starting to burn his skin.

Yangyang isn’t in as much pain as he was two weeks ago, and neither are they, but they still need to be cautious. They know his wounds are worse than theirs are and that he doesn’t like to show how painful it is for him, even to this day, but at least he’s honest enough to tell them his back is still tender and to admit it hurts to lie on it.

A distressed noise later, Dejun motions Kunhang to follow him to the back of the barn. As they walk, Kunhang can’t help but notice Dejun’s back is dirty with mud and leaves, and he suspects his looks the same. He’d point it out, but there’s really no point in doing so. It isn’t as if they have anything with which to clean themselves.

“We need to find something to bandage his back,” Dejun frets quietly. The barn is big enough they could go to the far back and speak normally without worrying about Yangyang hearing them, but neither is willing to go so far they won’t be able to hear _him_. “He keeps getting worse every hour and we’ve been here for literal _weeks_ and I don’t know how much we can milk the leftover holiness.”

“How?” Kunhang asks. “There’s literally nothing around us but hay, dirt and-”

Kunhang stops mid-sentence. Dejun waits for him to continue, but after a beat, he splutters and waves his hand in front of Kunhang’s face. “What? What is it?”

“Had you seen that before?” Kunhang asks him. He grasps Dejun’s shoulders and redirects him so they’re facing the same way. “That, there, what’s that?” He points to something above them.

Dejun squints and tries to follow the direction of Kunhang’s finger. Right at the back of the barn, nearly hidden behind what used to be a horse stall, are stairs. Dejun trails his gaze upward and thinks he sees boxes on the second floor, which he’d barely registered in the past two (or has it been three?) weeks they’ve been here.

“I’ll go check it out,” Kunhang says. He made up his mind already, and there’s nothing Dejun could say that would deter him. “You go back to him. I think he’s waking up.”

Indeed, Yangyang is stirring in his makeshift bed. Dejun purses his lips, unhappy at the idea of Kunhang going anywhere alone, especially under their current circumstances, but Yangyang has been in unbearable pain the entire morning and it only helps if he’s either asleep or accompanied.

Kunhang tests the staircase. It’s made of splintered wood and rusty claws, and it shakes when Kunhang sets his hands on a step, but after further checking he confirms it’s safe enough for him to climb. A draft sneaks through the cracks on the barn’s walls and he shivers, hoping against hope that there is anything they can use up there. He secures his foot on the first step and hears it creak, with Dejun snapping his head up and in his direction, undoubtedly regretting every second of this, but Kunhang is sure those boxes are packed.

Every step he climbs, Kunhang stops and breathes deeply, aware that if he were to fall from this high – not to mention, if the stairs were to land on him – it would bring more injuries. Halfway up, a step collapses under his weight and he has to hug the stairs to avoid falling, his leg dangling in the air. He sees Dejun rise, clearly intent on hauling him off and away from his stupid endeavour, but Kunhang recovers quickly and closes the distance between himself and the second floor.

Once on the landing, Kunhang kneels near the edge and looks down. The fallen step is a mess of wood at the bottom, and he cringes at the thought of stepping on any of those upturned nails. As it is, his hands have little cuts in them from the splintered wood.

Either way. Kunhang shrugs off the concern and turns around, carefully crawling to the centre of the floor. He’s higher up than he expected, though, and he can’t stand up properly. Still kneeling, he grabs the box nearest to him and is delighted to find it’s heavy.

“Anything?” Dejun calls out.

Kunhang calls back. “Yeah! I’m opening the first box. It has… tools. Of some sort? I think they’re for gardening or something like that. Useful,” he concludes, setting aside several of his findings. Large scissors, some worn out gloves and those shears for cutting off the thorns on roses. They might not be immediately useful, but they could certainly use them to find food. There’s also a watering can, yet it’s rusty and Kunhang fears it might do more harm than good, so he puts it back on the box.

The next box is full of gardening books and farming almanacs. Again, seemingly useless at first, but they could use the instructions. And if push comes to shove, they can use the pages to start a fire. Two more boxes are the same, with certain new tools coming up: a hammer, some nails, another set of gloves, and a roll of duct tape. No matches, however.

He has to crawl further along to reach the next set of boxes. These are heavy as well, but nothing clanks inside when he moves them, so Kunhang figures there are no more tools in them. The tape used to shut the boxes is more abundant this time around, and he has to scratch for nearly two minutes until he finally removes the tape.

Kunhang gasps. “Dejun! I got clothes!” he exclaims, his voice cracking. He digs through the box and finds worn out jeans, old t-shirts, a belt, and a lone pair of shoes. Kunhang hears Dejun make his way to the space beneath the landing, and when he looks over Dejun is straining his neck to try and get a glimpse of them. Kunhang grabs a pair of jeans he thinks would fit Dejun and chucks them over the edge, saying, “For you!”

After dressing himself as well, Kunhang is satisfied to find the pants fit him well enough, although the cuffs are a little high on his ankles. The t-shirts might be tight on them, but Kunhang isn’t about to reject clothes because they aren’t his exact fit.

“Give these to Yangyang,” he says, throwing the last two pairs of jeans to Dejun. “I think they’ll be a bit tight but it’s better than nothing.”

Dejun salutes him and runs back to Yangyang. Kunhang notices the pants are tight on him, too, if a bit long for his legs. Looking away, he folds the shirts neatly and places them to the side, and adds the belt after a second thought. One of them might need it.

The shoes seem too worn out and the soles are broken, so he chucks them to the other side of the floor. Over the following ten minutes or so, Kunhang rummages through the rest of the boxes and finds clothes that are more suitable. He doesn’t find any coats or blankets, sadly, but they can use the clothes that don’t fit them for makeshift beds and bandages. There are also magazines and newspaper they can use for fire.

Kunhang clears one of the boxes and loads it with the things they’ll use, adding an old journal as a second thought. Maybe he can read it if he gets bored. It isn’t until he’s back at the edge of the landing that he realises he can’t carry it down. He’ll need both hands to hold himself up on the stairs, especially if you consider how unstable the steps are.

“Need any help?” Dejun offers, appearing as if out of nowhere at the bottom.

“Yeah,” Kunhang nods, motioning to the box next to him. “Put your arms out and brace yourself.”

Dejun looks like he wants to argue as Kunhang slides as far out of the edge as he dares to, the wooden planks almost at his waist when he stops. His arms are dangling in the air and his hair is falling on his face, nearly blocking his sight. Tightening his core, Kunhang lifts his torso and reaches for the box, which he’d thankfully placed close to the edge, and grunts with the effort of dragging it off the plank.

Kunhang almost loses his grip on the box and regains it at the last second. Dejun hisses something that might be a warning, or a threat for him to be more careful, but his arms stay where they are. Kunhang, very slowly, allows the box to slip from his grasp, and only breaths again when Dejun is holding it safely in his arms.

He shimmies backward and then sits up. Kunhang grins down at Dejun, who purses his lips in return. “That was stupidly dangerous,” Dejun says. “You’re aware of that much, aren’t you?”

“I know,” Kunhang confirms. “But I didn’t want to risk dropping anything.”

Dejun looks down at the mess of nails and wood on the ground and his scowl deepens. “Don’t move,” he says.

Kunhang stays in place, kicking his feet idly. His back hurts every once in a while, but it isn’t as horrible as it was the first week or so. Maybe his nerve endings finally died and that’s why he doesn’t feel anything. Dejun is back within seconds and he says, “Alright, get down from there.”

“What are you doing down there?” Kunhang asks, curious. Still, he moves to face the floor and carefully places his foot on a step, moving slowly.

He’s holding onto the third step when Dejun answers, “Just making sure you don’t land on the ground if that thing breaks.”

Of course, it breaks. Not just one step, but two, the one he was standing on as well as the one he was holding onto, his other hand in the process of changing steps. For a single second, Kunhang has time to think _oh no_ and then he’s falling backwards.

Kunhang lands on something warm. Disorientated and back to chest with Dejun, it takes him a second to process what happened. In spite of Dejun being there to cushion his fall, his back flares with pain and he regrets joking about his nerve fizzing out when they’re clearly kicking and screaming.

A groan uttered directly into his ear brings him back to the present. Kunhang scrambles off of him, panicked at the thought of hurting him. Tears stain Dejun's cheeks, but he cries silently. Kunhang frets over him, checking for any broken bone, regardless of how unlikely it might seem.

“I’m so sorry,” Kunhang chants. Dejun doesn’t respond beyond groaning feebly. “Can you move? Should I move you?”

“Give me a second,” Dejun huffs. “I think I landed on the nails.”

“I’m sorry,” Kunhang repeats, tearfully.

“I’m fine,” Dejun waves him off. “Go check on Yangyang.”

Kunhang is adamant to leave him alone, but he goes once he hears Yangyang panic over the noise. Stumbling to his bedside, Kunhang kneels with a grimace and brushes Yangyang’s hair away from his face, the strands wet with sweat.

“What happened?” Yangyang asks feebly. His lips are parched and they crack when he speaks. “I heard a crash.”

“The stairs broke,” Kunhang says. “I landed on Dejun. He landed on rusty nails and wood.”

“Ouch.”

Kunhang laughs dryly. “Yeah, ouch. Are you in much pain?”

Yangyang, arms outstretched to either side of his body, flexes his fingers and frowns. “Yeah, but I think it is fading. Sometimes I can’t feel it.”

Kunhang doesn’t like the sound of that. He keeps his worries to himself, however, and says, “I found some clothes we can wear. Some of it won’t fit any of us and I was thinking we could use it for bandages.”

“You should check on Dejun,” Yangyang says. “I think he’s dead.”

Well, at least he has his sense of humour. They know, very well, that they aren’t going to die anytime soon. Will they be in pain? Yes. Unbearable pain, and won’t be invulnerable to any human illness or suffering, but at least they won’t die. Heavenly justice at its finest.

Following his advice, Kunhang goes back to Dejun. His friend is sitting up, reaching around his back to pull at splinters on his skin.

“Stop, stop,” Kunhang holds his wrist, “You’re gonna hurt yourself even more. Come on, let’s sit over there.”

Carefully, Kunhang pulls Dejun to his feet and leads him to a stack of hay tall enough for them to sit on it. Dejun tries to sit upright, probably to give Kunhang better access, but he’s too wound up and Kunhang fears he’ll hurt him, so he says, “Relax your back. I can’t do anything like this.”

The following minutes, Kunhang pulls wood and nails alike from his back. Dejun tries to muffle his sounds at first, until Kunhang reminds him there’s no one around other than them and there’s no reason to be quiet.

“I’ll bandage it, wait here.”

Kunhang locates a shirt, the scissors and the roll of tape and brings them over to the haystack. He cuts the shirt into three pieces and wraps one around Dejun’s torso, taping it in place before grabbing the second piece and spreading it across his back. Once secured, he contemplates the wounds and settles for wrapping the third piece as he did the first one.

“Well, it’s messy,” Kunhang says, “But it’ll work for now. Try not to move around too much, yeah?”

“Agreed,” Dejun nods. Thankfully, the bleeding stopped days ago, which means the bandages only have to protect the wounds and not stop any blood.

“I’ll do Yangyang’s wounds and you do mine after?” Kunhang offers. With Dejun’s agreement, he goes back to Yangyang.

Yangyang’s injuries surpass theirs in size and in number, which means Kunhang can’t wrap him up the same way he did to Dejun. He grabs the thickest fabric he can find in the box and tears it into five pieces, laying them across Yangyang’s back. He places three strips directly against his skin, tapes them secure, then determines which areas are bloodiest and covers them a second time.

“I’m gonna have to put the tape on your skin,” he tells Yangyang, “There isn’t enough fabric to wrap it around your body.”

Yangyang slurs, "'S fine."

Yangyang sounds out of it, more than he has the past couple of days, and Kunhang doesn’t know if it’s the lack of food, the lack of water or the lack of medicine. Who knows? It might be the lack of warmth in this place at nights, or the little shelter from the weather outside.

“Hang?” Kunhang stops midrise, humming to show he’s listening. “Thank you.”

When Dejun asks what’s wrong with him, Kunhang says it’s just his back acting up. He doesn’t want to share his worries, not yet. Dejun’s smart, he knows Kunhang isn’t telling the truth, but he doesn’t push, either.

Dejun is quick with his bandages. Kunhang grimaces as the tape sticks to his skin and dreads the day they have to change the fabrics, but it’s a necessary evil. “Do you think we’ll find something edible out there?” Dejun asks him.

“Where I was?” Kunhang asks for clarification. At Dejun’s hum, he says, “I think so. There were animals, and where there are animals, there’s food.”

“And water,” Dejun adds. “That’s good news. We should try going out there soon.”

There have been specific, very valid reasons why they haven’t left the barn in so long: their nudity, their uncertainty and their exposed injuries, to name a few. Now that they’ve managed to solve those, Kunhang thinks there’s a good chance they’ll make it out of here. He certainly doesn’t wish to spend the rest of his existence inside a barn.

“One of us has to stay here,” Kunhang says. He nods subtly towards Yangyang’s sleeping form. “We can’t leave him alone.”

“No, I guess we can’t,” Dejun sighs. He pats Kunhang’s shoulder and Kunhang takes that as a sign to turn around. Face to face, he understands there was no sense in pretending he isn’t worried about Yangyang. He can see, clear as day, Dejun feels the same way. He can’t tell if his sunken eyes are due to dehydration or lack of sleep.

Kunhang sighs, runs a hand down his face and says, “I can go first. I kinda know the area.”

“No, you don’t,” Dejun says immediately.

“I said kinda for a reason.” Kunhang looks around until he spots the tools scattered around the floor, left there after he nearly emptied the box looking for something thick to use on Yangyang. “I can use those gloves and the shears. We should look for something I can use to carry water.”

Dejun, for what is worth, doesn’t continue to argue with him on the matter. Together, they scout the barn, but come up empty handed. There’s nothing on the ground floor, other than hay and the few tools Kunhang gathered, and they don’t have a way to get to the second floor, either.

“I didn’t see anything there, anyway,” Kunhang grumbles. “Most of the stuff was old and useless.”

“I wonder what happened,” Dejun says. “With all that stuff up there, the clothes, the tools…”

“There was a journal,” Kunhang points to it on the box, “It looks old, too, maybe you can find out.”

Dejun snorts. “Follow the clues to the hidden story?”

“Something like that. I guess I’ll have to make do with what we have,” he sighs. “I’ll go out now. Let’s hope I find food.”

“Be careful,” Dejun pleads, “and get back here before it gets dark.”

The double doors bang lightly against the walls. There’s a strong breeze coming in from outside, and from afar Kunhang can see the treetops sway side to side. In his head, Kunhang is calculating the odds of finding everything they need. Outwardly, he attempts a smile in Dejun’s direction and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”

Dejun says something that sounds like, “I’m holding you to that,” but it gets lost in the wind.

~

The outside world is brighter than Kunhang remembered. There’s plenty of shade inside the barn and they spend most of their waking hours huddled in a corner, so now the sunlight harms his eyes. He shields them with his hand and trudges forward, scanning their surroundings.

The last time he saw what was around the barn, it had been night time, it was raining and he’d been in unbearable pain. Today, he notices certain things he hadn’t noticed before: he’d thought there wasn’t a road, but it turns out there’s a dirt road some hundred meters south of the barn. It doesn’t seem to lead anywhere nearby, though, not that he can see. It’s good to know there’s a road, however, because even if it’s kilometres away, it means there’s some sort of civilisation.

Kunhang walks carefully toward the trees. He watches his steps in case there’s anything he should avoid stepping on, but other than dirt and rocks, there’s nothing on the clearing. No flowers, barely any grass at all and no mushrooms. Worth a shot.

He has little knowledge on human affairs – that was always Dejun’s area of expertise – but he knows the basics. He knows their bodies are losing water at a distressing pace, and were they mortals, they’d be dead by now. Kunhang also knows they need to get some sort of sustenance in their bodies, especially for Yangyang. He knows they should keep moving, find medicine for their injuries and something to fight off the sunburns.

There are a lot of things they should be doing. There’s very few they can actually do, due to the given circumstances.

Past the initial trees, the bushes thicken. Kunhang spots a fallen bird’s nest, but no eggs. A few feet farther away, a rabbit hole, but no rabbit. Snake skin and a days old carcass of some dead animal, no longer recognizable.

Kunhang walks for a long time. He doesn’t have much in ways of measuring time, except for the shadow of the sun. He thinks it’s been perhaps an hour since he left the barn, and briefly considers turning back around. Except that would mean going back without any food, or water, and he can’t do that.

There’s a shrub about ten feet from where he is. Upon further inspection, Kunhang determines those really are fruits in its leaves, small, plump and red. He sniffs one carefully, though he isn’t sure what he’s looking for. They seem… all right. Non-poisonous, at least.

Kunhang brings one up to his lips and bites down. Immediately, his cheeks swell with saliva and he groans, partly pained and partly starved. It tastes delicious, and he quickly eats three more before stuffing the remaining fruits into a glove and securing it.

An injured rabbit lies ahead. Kunhang can see exactly where its leg is broken, the bone just barely peeking through the skin. The poor thing is breathing heavily, bleeding, and its frightened eyes dart from one side to the other. Kunhang’s heart squeezes in compassion, but his growling stomach reminds him why he’s here.

Should he do it? It’s injured, the rabbit isn’t going anywhere, and it’s just waiting for another animal to come along and take it between its teeth. Kunhang needs to bring something other than small fruits, that isn’t up for debate.

A part of him, perhaps the delusional one that holds onto the unrealistic hope of getting back to Heaven, whispers to him that he should help it. That’s the right thing to do, after all. It’s what an Angel is supposed to do. Kunhang used to help the new souls to get used to Heaven, show them around. He’s a _helper_ , not a murderer.

_It’s not murder. The rabbit is half-dead already and you need to eat._

“It should be enough meat for the three of us,” he says to himself. He’s not sure if he’s trying to reassure himself or what.

Kunhang scans the area and grabs a fallen log. It’s sturdy, a little wet, and heavy enough. Without a second thought, Kunhang sends a little prayer to forgive him for his sins, and then brings the log down on the rabbit’s head.

The blow connects on the first try. There’s a wet, dull sound and the rabbit’s chest stops moving. Kunhang drops the bloodied log to the side, lifts the rabbit’s body tenderly and tries to stuff it inside the empty glove, but half of it sticks out either way, so he transfers the fruits to that glove as well and uses the other one to cover the legs.

It’s not much food to speak of, but the sun is coming down and he did promise Dejun he’d be back early. He’s disappointed he didn’t find any water, though. Kunhang gives a cursory glance around him again, just to make sure he isn’t missing anything, and with a sigh gets back on the trail that lead him here.

He can hear birds chirping nearby, but he can’t pinpoint where they are. More than a few times, he thinks he hears something walking close to him or squirrel past him, yet finds nothing when he turns around. Animals in the area seem to be very good at hiding from people, it would seem.

Back in the barn, Dejun is leafing through the journal Kunhang found while Yangyang lies with his head on his lap, dozing. When they see him, Dejun makes an aborted motion to stand up and rush to him but he realises belatedly he would have to jostle Yangyang to do so.

“I found some food,” Kunhang announces, trying to sound cheerful and failing spectacularly. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

“That’s good,” Dejun is quick to reassure him. “Come here, let’s take a look.”

Kunhang sits cross-legged in front of them and presents them with his findings. He’s thankful they don’t ask him about the rabbit. Yangyang pokes it experimentally with a finger, as if he expects it to jump up at any second.

“I had three of these,” Kunhang says, pointing to the fruits, “so these are yours. I sniffed them before eating them so they’re good to go.”

Yangyang counts the fruits and comes to the same conclusion as Dejun, almost at the same time. He frowns up at Kunhang and says to him, “There are ten. That should be one more for you, four for each of us and… and one leftover, which should go to you.”

“No,” Kunhang tries to protest. Not that Dejun allows it. It doesn’t seem like Dejun will let him get away with many things, now that Kunhang thinks about it.

“Yes,” Dejun says firmly. “You went out there, you get the extra one.”

Kunhang starts to argue and they shut him down. Whatever, he’ll have the spare fruit, and then find a way to sneak some of his meat to them later. Yangyang is eyeing him as if he knows what he’s thinking, but the effect is lost when he’s lying sideways like that, cradled protectively under one of Dejun’s arms.

“We should make a fire,” Dejun says next. “To cook the rabbit.” He sounds queasy when he says it, as if he’s not entirely excited to do it. Kunhang can understand that, he’s not very happy about any of this, either.

Kunhang nods and gets up, only for Dejun to stop him. “No, wait here. I’ll get the… the sticks? You and Yangyang can skin it.”

“What?” they blurt out in unison.

Dejun looks at them, eyebrows raised. He says slowly, “We can’t eat the fur. It’s easy, just use those shears to cut into it in the middle and then pull -”

“Got it,” Kunhang interrupts him. “Pass me the shears and, please, stop talking.”

After the scissors are safely in his hands, Dejun stands up, lays Yangyang on his stomach and leaves the barn. A stretch of silence and a deep breath later, Kunhang grabs the rabbit’s body and holds it steady with one hand while the other goes to cut through the middle.

Yangyang gags as the scissors dig through the pelt. The rabbit doesn’t bleed, per se, but once the wound is deep enough, warm blood trickles down his hands. Kunhang has to look away before he throws up, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever feel clean again. Next, he hooks his thumbs on each side and pulls the skin off.

“Now what?” Yangyang asks him. He doesn’t look to be in the best position, especially not for his neck, but unless he says something, Kunhang won’t mention it. “The... the pelt is gone.”

“I guess now we wait for Dejun to come back,” Kunhang says. He puts the pelt to the side, somewhere he doesn’t have to see it, and lays the skinless rabbit on top of the gloves.

Yangyang visibly debates before saying, “I think we should get rid of the guts.”

That’s reasonable, Kunhang supposes. He hates that he has to do it, of course.

Steeling himself, Kunhang grabs the scissors again and pokes at the rabbit. There’s a cut on the side, right where he cut the pelt, so he widens the wound and inserts the scissors, pinching everything squishy and dragging it out. He sees Yangyang close his eyes and wishes he could do the same.

Dejun comes back inside the barn, arms laden with sticks, twigs and rocks. It looks more than he should be able to carry, but he doesn’t seem bothered. Kunhang clears room for him to drop his newfound materials and waits for Dejun’s approval.

“Looks good,” Dejun smiles as he praises him. “Smart of you to remove the guts, too. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It was Yangyang’s idea,” Kunhang says. His ears burn.

Yangyang motions to the pile of rocks. “What did you find?”

“Well,” Dejun rubs his neck, “I don’t remember much about my time on Earth, but I have some knowledge on basic survival. I know you can make a fire from sticks, leaves and rocks, and I know hay is very flammable. We can use it to start a fire so we can cook the rabbit, but we can’t let it spread.”

“What do I do?” Kunhang asks.

Dejun smiles. “Help me clear a space for the fire. There can’t be any hay or we’ll burn the place down.”

Together, they clean the floor around Yangyang in record time. In the meantime, Yangyang stretches an arm, builds a pile out of the sticks and leaves as Dejun instructs him, and surrounds it by a wall of rocks. After that, Dejun and Kunhang work on building a contraption to help them cook the rabbit over the fire, although it takes them longer than they’d like to admit. The sticks fall over time and time again, and they need it to be steady.

It isn’t easy to start a fire. Dejun works at it for what feels like an eternity, with sweat glistening above the elegant arch of his eyebrows and dripping down the slope of his nose. Yangyang blows on the smoke when prompted, eager to help them in any way he can, and Kunhang cups his hands around the tiny sparks to avoid the wind from blowing them away. There’s a nice breeze wafting through the barn’s doors, and under any other circumstances Kunhang would be happy, but right now it’s killing their chances at making a fire.

Yangyang nearly sits up in his excitement. Slowly but surely, a fire forms, and soon it’s big enough to cook. Dejun grabs the stick with the speared rabbit and places it neatly over the fire, and now all they have to do is to wait for the meat to be edible.

“We could have something going on here,” Yangyang says. There’s a small, happy smile playing at his lips, and the unfairness of everything strikes Kunhang once more.

He knows Yangyang did something bad. He knows that, technically speaking, this is the proper punishment, for all of them. But it’s so hard to remember that sometimes, especially seeing Yangyang smiling for first time in a week, as small as it is.

Regardless, Kunhang knows he doesn’t want this to be everything they have. They’ve managed to survive well enough in the barn, but he doesn’t want their lives to be reduced to these four walls and to the small forest outside. And he knows Dejun feels the same when they lock eyes over the fire. They’re getting out of here, one way or another.

Dejun feeds the fire with scraps of a magazine every few minutes. When Kunhang is sure Yangyang is sleeping again, he asks, “Did you find anything on the journal?”

As he expected, Dejun stiffens momentarily before he forces himself to relax again. Kunhang can still see the guilty glint in his eyes.

“What are you talking about?” Dejun tries to play it off.

“You know what,” Kunhang says. “How do you know so much about human survival? You’ve been to Earth, yes, but never in a circumstance that would need you to learn all these things.”

It’s the truth and they both know it. Dejun used to supervise the guardian angels and sometimes that meant making house calls, coming to the human realm to keep an eye on his subordinates. That’s why Dejun knows more about living humans and society than Yangyang and Kunhang do, yet it doesn’t mean he should know how to start a fire. Or to skin a rabbit.

Dejun tends the fire for a few seconds before replying. “It’s weird. It’s a diary, I guess. Some guy whose family had a farm around here, but they went bankrupt and lost everything. He lived here for a while before dying.”

He’s lying. Kunhang sees it clear as day on his face, how Dejun refuses to look at him when he says it. It’s weird, because a month earlier, Dejun wouldn’t be caught lying about a missing paperclip. The first time Dejun ever lied… well, here they are.

Kunhang wants to demand answers from him, but he doesn’t. Clearly, Dejun isn’t ready to talk about whatever it is that he found on that journal, and Kunhang isn’t going to push him to tell him. He’ll wait for Dejun to come to him on his own terms. He’s certain he’ll do it.

Meanwhile, he’ll take the wisdom as it comes. If Dejun doesn’t wish to tell them how he knows that you can’t eat the rabbit’s ears or head, fine. He’ll settle and do as Dejun says, for now. As long as it doesn’t interfere with their survival, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope the timeline isn't confusing and that you enjoyed this chapter! there isn't much backstory but we do get a glimpse into the dynamics and 👀👀 some mystery 👀


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yangyang doesn't tear his eyes away from Dejun for a second, looking for the slightest hint of hesitation, something to hold onto so he can convince Dejun to follow his plan. They're both desperate, one clinging to the past and the other scrambling to do something of their present. Kunhang, on the other hand, worries about their future - and what it might hold for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i have no idea how the korean government deals with the homeless community (idek how my own does) so take this chapter with a grain of salt. also say hi to bella she's here for .5 seconds

Dejun huffs in frustration. He and Yangyang stare at each other defiantly, neither willing to back down, while Kunhang hovers nervously behind them. He'd been reluctant to participate in the discussion before, mainly because he knows that they both have valid points, but now he's scared he'll offend one by siding with the other. He wants to say they need to compromise, find the middle between their views.

He wants to tell them _please, please, stop fighting; we're all each other have now._

The little alley they'd snuck into smells strongly like dirty diapers and dead rats. The stench is strong enough that Kunhang can almost taste it on his tongue - yet another "perk" of being human. Kunhang tries to breathe through his mouth, but even that gives him the urge to vomit. He clamps his mouth shut and slows his breathing in hopes it will lessen the assault to his senses.

Beyond the alley, the plaza empties slowly. Today, there was some sort of celebration, some fair of some kind, the plaza had previously been filled to the brim with people milling about, children chasing each other with parents chasing them, and the smell of food had been almost overwhelming in its variety. With food vendor upon food vendor lining the street, combined with the stalls selling jewellery, art, and other miscellaneous, it had made for a rather nice atmosphere.

Kunhang had watched the event from behind a building, a small smile on his lips in spite of the pain in his stomach. Sometimes, he remembered why God loved his creations so much.

"Are you done yet, trying to condemn our souls further?" Dejun asks. He sounds _so_ angry, his eyebrows twitching, Kunhang has to repress the instinct to defend Yangyang. He isn't getting into this argument, especially not now that they look ready to throw punches. "Or would you like to find an old person you can punch?"

Kunhang curses under his breath, thinking - who cares? They're out - they're not getting back to Heaven, no matter what they do. Of course, he isn't about to say that. He doesn't want Dejun's angry gaze to move onto him. He would much rather see this argument reach an end before adding fuel to the fire.

Yangyang clenches his fists at his sides and says, slowly, "Would you rather we starve to death? Because we’re damn near to doing that." Kunhang sees him trembling, in repressed anger or maybe fear. They seem to be very similar emotions, these days.

Dejun doesn't say anything. He's conflicted, clearly, but it seems like his hopes of finding a way back to Heaven are greater than their current human needs. Kunhang knows that he’s noticed how those little blessings they’d kept after their fall are disappearing, slowly but surely. One of those is their immunity to hunger – it seems like they do need food, now, or else they’re screwed.

Yangyang doesn't tear his eyes away from Dejun for a second, looking for the slightest hint of hesitation, something to hold onto so he can convince Dejun to follow his plan. They're both desperate, one clinging to the past and the other scrambling to do something of their present. Kunhang, on the other hand, worries about their future - and what it might hold for them.

"Maybe," Kunhang rasps out. His throat is parched and his lips crack when he opens his mouth to talk. He clears his throat and tries again, "Maybe we could find the middle ground. Like, we could take the food but repay the seller some other way."

Kunhang thought they would jump at his throat for his suggestion. They simple stare at him, however, as if trying to figure out what he said. Kunhang gulps and continues, "I mean... we could do some labours? We could offer to sweep the spot or something."

Yangyang smiles suddenly, and it's been so long since Kunhang last saw him smile. The most he can get out of him is a half grimace, at best. "That," Yangyang says, "is a great idea."

“I guess that could work,” Dejun says slowly. “But we’ve looked for jobs before, and it hasn’t worked.”

Unfortunately, that’s true. Ever since they made it to the city, all three have tried their best at landing a job, to no avail. They either turn them down because they have no documentation, or no experience, or due to their looks. Kunhang knows they’re not looking their best, but how exactly are they supposed to improve that with no money? Not to mention, they’re living on the streets. How anyone can live on this planet is beyond him.

“We wouldn’t be asking for a job,” Yangyang shrugs. “We’d just be asking for some food in exchange for sweeping around the stall.”

Kunhang doesn’t say it, but he thinks he would rather die than beg. One look at Dejun and he knows he feels the same way, yet he thankfully doesn’t mention it. Yangyang… it hasn’t been easy for any of them, though Kunhang suspects it’s been the worst for him.

Never mind the loss of their wings, Yangyang blames himself for everything that’s happened the past month or so. From their time in the barn, eating small animals and huddling by the fire, to their week-long hike to the nearest city, to the past couple of days on the streets, all of it has piled up on Yangyang’s shoulders.

Even if he doesn’t say it aloud, Kunhang can feel the weight of Yangyang’s eyes on him every time he has to sit down to pop a blister – in spite of the advice a homeless man gave him, saying that blisters are supposed to protect the healthy skin underneath, because it _hurt_ to walk – or whenever Dejun stops to breathe, wheezing audibly and his throat making the most guttural sounds.

Yangyang himself is suffering from sunburns that leave his skin red, itchy and sensitive. It’s come to the point they don’t even move around during the day, in an effort to relieve not only his discomfort but Kunhang’s as well, since that way the pavement won’t be scorching hot.

“Which one of us should go?” Dejun asks. All three of them look terrible, their clothes dirty and barefooted. They also smell in the most unpleasant way imaginable, which Kunhang doesn’t think will earn them any kind of points with the street vendors. They’ve been chased away enough to know that their appearances will only scare off other patrons.

It is night time, though, late enough that the only people left on the streets are drunk or drugged, and those aren’t particularly desirable customers, as far as Kunhang can see. They might have a chance at this, if only one of them is brave enough to try.

Yangyang rubs the skin on his forearm, probably without meaning to do it. His fingernails scratch at a scab and Kunhang looks away before he can see the blood oozing out of him.

“I’ll go,” Kunhang volunteers. “I don’t mind.”

 _I don’t mind being insulted_ , is what he means. He knows how it goes.

Kunhang waits for the street to be halfway deserted before stepping out of the alley. A few feet away from where they are, a dog perks up and wobbles over to him, its ribcage painfully concave. Kunhang tries shooing it away, to no avail. It’s just a little thing, its eyes black and shiny as it stares up at Kunhang and Kunhang is too fucking weak.

The line of vendors has diminished as the night progressed. Maybe it’s because customers stop buying street food after a certain hour, or maybe it’s because this area isn’t the best after sundown. Regardless, Kunhang narrows down his options to an older looking man, his cart full of steamy meat and bowls of rice.

Stomach in knots, from both hunger and dread, Kunhang steps up to the cart and offers his most winning smile. It doesn’t get him further than a suspicious side-eye from the man. Kunhang pushes on, hiding the dog behind his legs.

“Hello,” he greets the man with a bow, hoping at least to earn some points like that. “I’m very sorry to bother you but, you see…” he goes on to give some half-truths about his situation, saying just enough to justify his appearance. “And, I was wondering if it would be at all possible that, in exchange for some kind of work of course, you could give us -”

“No.”

Kunhang blinks, expecting the answer yet not expecting it to come so soon, or so harsh. He’s fully prepared to turn back around and leave when the man continues to speak, harsh words spewing forth and doing nothing but make shame crawl around Kunhang’s chest.

“It’s alright, sir,” Kunhang bows again, his smile strained.

The words don’t stop. “Why would you even come to this country if you can’t even hold a job, seriously, look at you!” being the nicest thing he says.

A hand tugs him away from the cart. Kunhang looks back to see Yangyang’s lips pressed firmly together, his eyes shining with unshed tears of anger. Kunhang allows him to lead him far from the vendor, the little dog following behind them.

Kunhang pretends he doesn’t care about the prejudice they face – something about them having an accent when they speak, which he suspects it’s a glitch from their angel speak being heard as human language by them – or about the treatment they receive everywhere they go, but he can’t deny it hurts.

“That was a stupid idea,” Yangyang grumbles, sniffing, “We should have just stolen it in the first place.”

“You know that’s not right,” Kunhang tries. They’re almost at the alley.

“I don’t care,” Yangyang says. “It’s better than seeing people insult you like that.”

Kunhang doesn’t answer that.

Someone hisses at them as they pass their stall. It’s an old woman, wrinkled and looking smaller than should be normal. Kunhang stares at her until he realises she’s beckoning them forward, not an ounce of malicious intent in sight.

Against his better judgement, Kunhang breaks free of Yangyang’s hold and goes to her. Yangyang makes a distressed sort of sound but lets him, staying back. Dejun hasn’t left the mouth of the alley yet, although he’s visible enough for Kunhang to know he’s keeping a close eye on him.

“Hello,” Kunhang says, polite but missing his former charm.

“That old man,” she says in lieu of a greeting, “He’s such a jerk, isn’t he? He had no business being that rude to you.”

“It was uncalled for, yes,” Kunhang agrees, biting his tongue to prevent himself from saying something scathing.

The old lady looks him up and down, then at Yangyang, the dog, and finally at Dejun, and she sighs. She removes the lid from her pot and fishes out several steamed buns, placing them on a napkin and wrapping them neatly as she says, “You kids are too skinny. Here, take this. No need to do anything for me,” she adds, cutting him off. “I heard you offered to help that geezer with his stall.”

Kunhang is at a loss for words. After he makes no move to take the offered bundle, she places it on his hands directly, and he only wraps his fingers around it as a reflex. He stammers out something akin to a thank you, shocked that she simply would… give him the buns. Considering they’re her income, and she hasn’t had many clients that he can see. She also gives him two water bottles, ambient temperature.

“If you kids need a place to stay,” she continues, packing up her things, “there’s a refuge three blocks from here, in that direction. It can get crowded at night, and I don’t think they’ll let you bring the dog in,” she eyes the little thing, “but it’s better than being out here, right?”

“Right,” Kunhang mutters. A second later, he’s in a sixty degree bow, fumbling over his words of gratitude. She pats his back and scolds him for making such a fuss, and then she’s gone, rolling her cart down the street. Kunhang watches her disappear around the corner and then returns to his friends, the dog trotting behind him.

“What was that?” Dejun splutters. His wide-eyed expression is very similar to Yangyang’s.

Kunhang shrugs, holding the bundle of steamed buns close to his chest. The water bottles are tucked into his elbow. “I have no idea. She said the other man was rude, gave me these and told me there’s a refuge over there,” he awkwardly points west to where they are. “Then she just left.”

“An angel,” Yangyang says, and that’s when it hits him.

Kunhang doesn’t recall seeing anyone go to her cart during the evening. And, as hard as he tries, he doesn’t remember when she came in and set up, either. She was just there, all of a sudden, with enough buns to give to them. Tears well up in his eyes at the realisation and, for the first time in what feels like forever, sends a prayer of gratitude to the heavens.

They eat the buns while sitting against the wall, downing the water between bites. Dejun eyes the dog with mistrust, although Kunhang has no idea what he might expect the little thing to do. Meanwhile, Yangyang allows it (“Her!” he announces proudly, rubbing her belly,) to sit on his lap and feeds it bits and pieces of his share of buns between bites of his own.

“Should we try that refuge?” Dejun asks. The buns are gone, and even though Kunhang thinks they should have saved a few, they were too hungry to notice they were eating them all.

“What if they don’t let Bella in?” Yangyang asks.

Kunhang supresses a smile as Dejun’s head reels back and he stares at Yangyang. “Who’s Bella?”

“Her!” Yangyang holds her paws up. “I named her Bella.”

“I don’t know how to explain this to you,” Dejun says, “but she’s not a priority.”

The full power of Yangyang’s pout means Dejun loses that argument. They make the trip to the refuge, the dog trotting happily behind them. Dejun rolls his eyes as the dog yips at his heels, but doesn’t push it away. Kunhang limps rather than walks, mindful of the spots his feet hurt most and keeping a close eye on any pebbles that might be on their way.

It must be sometime before midnight when they make it to the refuge. There isn’t a soul in sight outside of the building, the street empty and quiet, but the lights are on inside and there’s someone sitting at the front desk.

“The dog has to stay here,” Dejun tells Yangyang. He doesn’t sound like he likes the idea, either.

Yangyang, nearly pouting, crouches in front of the dog and rubs its head, saying, “Sorry, buddy, this is as far as we can take you.” The dog whines and lifts its paw to Yangyang’s face, and Kunhang swears he sees Yangyang tear up. “No, don’t do this to me.”

Kunhang can’t really take seeing this anymore. He climbs the steps leading to the front door and peers inside before pushing the glass door open, followed closely by Dejun, Yangyang’s arm firmly grasped in his hold to make sure the youngest follows.

It… isn’t what Kunhang expected. Not that he knew what to expect, sure, but it still feels anticlimactic, somehow. The main floor smells strongly of bleach, but you can still feel the undertones of public bathroom underneath the chemicals, and there’s accumulated dust in the corners of the room. The front desk has a sign-up sheet, guarded heavily by a grumpy looking woman, who gives them the stink eye as soon as they walk in and doesn’t stop even after they’ve signed their names and she’s given them their complimentary bed sheets and pillowcases.

As she leads the way further inside the building, down long, narrow corridors and past locked doors, she lists the rules they’re expected to follow. Most are understandable, even logical – they have an allotted seven minutes to shower and do their business each, the free meal is for breakfast only at 6am, there is no fighting tolerated – while others are a little harder to follow – no sneaking anything inside or out, no going into other people’s rooms, no going into the front hall unless they’re leaving the building.

“All the doors lock from inside,” she barks, “And only this master key can open them from outside. An alarm will ring at 6am, sharp, that’s your cue to get up. The room is yours until you step outside, that’s your check out. You can choose to go for the mess hall and fight for a meal or go to the bath hall and fight for a shower.” There’s a little too much satisfaction in her voice as she says it.

They follow her to the far end of the hallway, where she stops to unlock a door, brass numbers reading 164. “This is your shared room,” she says gruffly, “If you want to shower now, you better do it quick because the bath hall closes at midnight.”

Kunhang and Dejun stay in the room while Yangyang takes the first shower. As they wait, they put the sheets on the mattresses and on the pillows, and they quickly notice the material is scratchy and thin. Still, a bed’s a bed. It beats sleeping on stone steps or on the pavement.

Yangyang is back in record time, his hair dripping wet and wearing his clothes inside out. He doesn’t look like he dried off after stepping out of the shower, if the way that his clothes cling to him is anything to go by. Dejun goes next, skirting around the woman as she huffs impatiently at them to hurry up.

Kunhang almost asks how the shower was, except Yangyang looks tired and freaked out and he figures it’s better if he doesn’t. Instead, he urges Yangyang to lie down on one of the beds, insisting there’s no problem at all with him not waiting for them to be done.

After Dejun returns – in what feels like less than seven minutes, somehow – Kunhang goes after the woman. She leads him back up the hall, but instead of going in the same direction they came from, she unlocks a different set of doors.

“You have seven minutes,” she warns him, “Nothing more.”

Kunhang bows politely, a smile plastered on his face. The corners of his mouth hurt from the strain of the action, and then he goes inside the bath hall. He’s getting tired of smiling at rude people.

It smells. Really badly. Kunhang fights back the urge to retch and scans his surroundings as he moves, taking his clothes off and placing them gingerly on a bench. There’s a soap dispenser next to a row of sinks, with only a few bars left. Kunhang takes one and immediately comes a beeping sound, followed by the dispenser’s mouth locking shut. Kunhang blinks and steps back, holding the bar to his chest.

He steps into the first shower stall he sees and turns on the shower head, stepping aside carefully when the water begins to pour down. It’s icy cold and the pressure is weak, but it’s enough for now. Kunhang showers quickly, but efficiently, using the soap to wash his hair, face and chest in less than thirty seconds. At least the scent of the soap, fruity, covers up the stench from the row of toilets on the other side of the room.

All in all, he thinks it takes him three minutes to shower, including the short reprise he allows himself to wash his feet carefully, popping a few more blisters and letting the water run over the open wounds. It hurts, but it’s also sweet relief from feeling like he’s walking on bubbles – bubbles that cause pain to shoot up his legs. What takes him longer is putting on his jeans again, given there are no towels in sight and he has to pull the fabric up his wet legs.

When he steps outside, the lady is getting ready to burst through the door. Again, she looks at him as if he’s dirt under her shoes and leads him back to the room they’ve been assigned. Kunhang allows his eyes to wander around their surroundings this time, and he can’t say he’s impressed: the walls are chipping, the floor covered in fallen debris, and there’s trash on the ground. Somehow, the sizable space is swallowed by the poor conditions of the building.

Dejun and Yangyang are huddled on one of the beds, Yangyang shivering from the cold. They didn’t get any blankets, which doesn’t seem like bad management but just downright cruelty. Kunhang waits for the lady to shut the door, turns the lock and the deadbolt, and then makes a beeline for that bed and worms his way between them, sighing at their body warmth.

“Talk about a cold shower,” he says. Yangyang giggles at him and accommodates their limbs. The overhead light flickers weakly.

“We could sleep in just one bed,” Dejun suggests, teeth nearly chattering. Like Yangyang, he’s doing his best to smile at Kunhang.

“Do you think we’ll fit?” Kunhang asks him, his frown not visible to them given how his face is still smashed between their arms. He can feel someone’s hand rubbing up and down his back, though it’s a toss which one of them is doing it.

Dejun snorts. “Have you seen us lately? I’m pretty sure we will.” On that happy note, they get off the bed and get to work.

They strip the other two mattresses of their sheets and use those as blankets instead, their pillows overlapping each other on the narrow strip of space. They settle Yangyang in the middle of the bed, something about him being easily cold, and Dejun takes the spot by the wall. Kunhang doesn’t mind being on the edge, or sleeping on his side. He’s worried Yangyang’s back will hurt again, but the boy hasn’t complained about his wounds for weeks.

Kunhang pretends he doesn’t see something skitter across the wall opposite the bed and instead burrows under the sheets, which at least smells clean. Dejun’s head, pillowed on Yangyang’s shoulder, is barely visible through his mop of hair.

“This is kinda nice,” Yangyang says into the darkness, once they’ve turned off the light.

Dejun murmurs, "No, it's not." The effect is lost, though, considering he snores seconds later. His breathing is still uncomfortably loud in the silence of the room, and it’s a miracle he could fall asleep so quickly. Kunhang doesn’t say it aloud, but Dejun’s breathing condition worries him more than his blisters. At least they can _see_ the blisters – they can’t see his throat or lungs.

Kunhang smiles into the fabric of Yangyang’s shirt. “Ignore him, he’s just grumpy.”

Yangyang makes a noncommittal grunt and closes his eyes, his breathing slowing into an even pattern. Before that, he slots a leg between Kunhang’s, not that he minds.

It takes Kunhang a while to fall asleep. He knows Yangyang is still awake, or at least sleeping very superficially, because he’ll fidget and huff every once in a while, but they don’t talk. Kunhang keeps his eyes closed and tries to match his breathing with Dejun’s, but every little noise makes him jolt to attention: be it someone screaming inside the building, or the sound of footsteps racing outside their room, or even just the patter of creepy crawlers inside the room.

There’s also the very intrusive, yet sadly common, thought of the journal. It’s been tucked into the back of Dejun’s jeans since they left the barn – even before then, actually, because he always kept it on his person even then – and he won’t let either of them look at it. He’s been careful enough that Yangyang hasn’t noticed anything is amiss, but Kunhang can’t be fooled so easily.

He knows there’s something in that journal. He knows Dejun isn’t telling him something, something that’s potentially important. And each time that he feels like he has the answer on the tip of his tongue, it goes away.

And, to top it all off, there’s the business with the angel they encountered today. The more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself that she really _was_ an angel and they aren’t just looking too deep into it. Kunhang doesn’t know what to make of it, other than that he’s glad she was there. Whether it was intentional or not, one of their past peers helped them out tonight, and that’s enough to put a smile on his lips.

It’s with that comforting thought that Kunhang can finally drift off to sleep, lulled by his companions’ soft breathing and the warmth of Yangyang’s leg between his.

~

The alarm rings what feels like seconds after Kunhang’s closed his eyes. He jolts awake, nearly falling off the bed if it weren’t for Dejun’s quick reflexes, Dejun’s hand shooting across the bed and grabbing Kunhang’s shirt. Within seconds of the alarm, they can hear a commotion in the outside hall, which doesn’t help with their confusion.

Yangyang whines something and tries to burrow further into the sheets, but Dejun is already getting up and trying to tug him along. “Come on, we can’t stay in here forever. We should get breakfast.”

“I don’t know how safe I feel going out there right now,” Kunhang admits. They can hear shouting and arguing around them, clear as day. Not to mention, the way the lady spoke last night effectively spooked him.

“Me neither,” Yangyang peeks over the sheets. “Maybe we should stick together.”

“You mean that wasn’t the plan before?” Dejun stands up. He’s given up on dragging Yangyang out of bed. “Of course we’re sticking together, we’re not crazy.”

Kunhang clears his throat. “I was thinking of using our bathroom time to wash our clothes, using the soap bars. We smell.”

Dejun sighs and hangs his head. “Yeah, that’s not really something we can put off. Okay, how about this: we go to the mess hall, see if we can salvage anything, and then go to the baths?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Yangyang tries for a smile and fails.

They brave the trip outside after making sure the hallways are calmer than before. There’s people still milling about, and while they eye the three of them with varying degrees of mistrust and contempt, no one approaches them. Yangyang is practically glued to Kunhang’s side as they follow the masses and walk towards a set of stairs, Dejun bringing up the rear.

The mess hall is nothing more than a bunch of plastic tables, plastic chairs and plastic cutlery. The food is served at the far end of the room by burly looking men and women, all of whom look like they’d much rather be anywhere else but here, and all tables are occupied. Most people seem to be sitting on the floor or eating while standing up, guarding their meals with extreme jealousy.

In the time that it takes them to walk from the door to the other side of the room, at least three fights break out, quickly quelled by security guards – or, at least they look like security guards. They’re dressed in all black and barrel into the physical altercations with little finesse.

They grab a tray each as they walk in and stand in line. Kunhang counts the people ahead of them while anxiously eyeing the food platters, although his nerves settle just a little as he sees more food being brought out of what he guesses is the kitchen. The man in front of him is muttering rabidly to himself, rocking back and forth on his heels. He can feel Yangyang plaster himself to his back, maybe out of nerves or in an attempt to stick close. Either way, Kunhang isn’t going to push him away.

Breakfast isn’t anything out of this world, but it’s a meal. An egg salad sandwich, accompanied by a cup of orange juice and a cookie with a smiley face made of gummies. They find a quiet corner and devour their meals like the starved men they are, and even if Kunhang feels like they ate a little too quickly, they’re still some of the last to exit the cafeteria.

As they’re standing up to leave, a shadow falls over them. Kunhang’s heart drops to his stomach and he looks up to find one of the lunch ladies, a large black woman with a hair nest on. He’s half prepared to be scolded for – whatever, honestly – after his previous encounter with the desk lady, but the woman only points to their bare feet.

“You are going to need shoes,” she says with a heavy accent, her Korean not perfect but still understandable. “There is a church, next block. They have charity boxes, and shoes.”

“Oh,” Dejun blinks, looking down at his feet before looking back up at her and smiling, “Thank you! You are very kind.”

She smiles back and leaves. Kunhang and Dejun meet eyes over Yangyang’s head – who’s too busy picking at the gummies on his cookie to notice them – and mouth _’angel’_ at each other and nodding in confirmation. That’s the second one in two days. If Kunhang didn’t know any better, he’d say some of their old friends are concerned about them.

They reach the nearest bath hall quickly after that to find that the line is long, and a sign reads there’s no more hot water. No one seems to mind about that in particular, to be honest. They do mind, however, when the man guarding the entrance to the bath hall, a chronometer hanging from his neck, announces they’re out of soap. Kunhang pats his jean pocket as a reflex, feeling the hard lines of the soap bar through the fabric.

“So, we agree?” Dejun asks them. The line is moving slowly, with groups of ten being allowed inside the bath hall every seven minutes on the dot. “We wash the clothes?”

“Yeah,” Yangyang nods. “We kinda need to stop smelling so bad if we want to find jobs.”

Kunhang smiles at the attempted joke. Yangyang’s trying to lift their spirits; he’s been doing that since he recovered from his wounds enough to talk without crying. Kunhang doesn’t know where they’d be without him.

As the crow dims, Kunhang notices there’s no gender distinction in the bath halls. Men and women alike are crammed inside the hall, going about their business as quickly as they can. He doesn’t fail to note how so many of them are out the door before their time is up, hurrying down the hall and out of sight.

Finally, their group is up. The three make a beeline for the shower stalls, forgoing the toilets. Kunhang strips his t-shirt and holds it under the shower head, rubbing the soap bar up and down and side to side until it makes bubbles, then quickly rinses it, throwing the wet lump over his shoulder. He scans his surroundings and sees that no one, with the exception of very few individuals, is naked. He thinks it’s a necessary evil and showers with his jeans on.

Stepping out of the shower, he wrenches the t-shirt in an attempt to rid it of excess water before putting it back on. As he prepares to leave the hall, he notices an old man struggling with the shower nob.

“Sir? Do you need any help?” he asks. The man looks at him, wide eyed, and Kunhang half expects him to rave at him. Instead, the man nods and steps aside, giving Kunhang enough room to reach into the stall and twist the knob for him. “Here, you can take my soap. I already used it,” Kunhang offers.

As an angel who loved humanity, he hasn’t quite shaken off that feeling. His heart burns with the same intensity it used to when the man stares at him in wonder and gratefulness, taking the bar with shaky hands and bowing hastily. Kunhang doesn’t need to hear the thanks when he can see them.

As others did, they’re out of the bath hall before their time is up. They meet down the hallway, still dripping wet from the shower. Kunhang asks, “I trust you didn’t strip in there?”

Dejun shudders, as if the mere idea freaks him out. “Are you insane? No way.”

“Nope,” Yangyang shakes his head. He looks Kunhang up and down and smiles, “I saw you helping that old man. You’re too soft, Hang.”

Kunhang blushes. He doesn’t have to respond, however, because Dejun beats him to it with a roll of his eyes as he says, “I saw you give your soap to that girl. Leave him alone.”

Yangyang blushes with the intensity of a thousand suns. They leave him alone, although Kunhang has to stifle a giggle at his expression. “So, should we go now? We could check out that church,” he suggests, looking pointedly at Dejun.

An understanding passes through them, and Dejun nods. They’re going to that church, if only because an angel told them to do it. This is starting to feel like they’re chasing breadcrumbs, and so far it has worked out in their favour. Yangyang bounces on the heels of his feet and eagerly follows them out.

“How are your feet?” Dejun asks Kunhang while they walk. He’s looking at the ground, although whether he did it to check on Kunhang or to avoid the eyes of the other pedestrians, Kunhang doesn’t know.

Kunhang hums, side stepping to avoid running into an old lady pushing a cart. She sneers in response. “They hurt, I guess, but at least I could wash them out last night, and today again.”

“You’re not supposed to be popping those,” Yangyang frowns, his eyes going wide as he rants, “Remember what that man said? He said that the blisters are supposed to protect the skin underneath, and that the puss smells really bad and it could cause an infection.”

“Yes, and he also said that if it hurt too much, then I should go ahead and burst them.”

Yangyang frowns deeper. Kunhang redirects the attention to Dejun, “How’s your throat? Your breathing is getting louder.”

Almost as if they had practiced it, Dejun wheezes and coughs, almost hacking up a lung before he can answer. “I’m fine.”

Kunhang and Yangyang stare at him. They’ve paused on a side street, nothing around them save for a kid’s bike chained to a fence and a hole in the wall restaurant that opens at night time, according to the sign. Down the road, a group of old ladies sits in a circle and very obviously starts talking about them.

“Dude, you’re not fine,” Yangyang points out. “That sounded really bad. Maybe we should go to a doctor.”

“With what money?” Dejun snaps. He backtracks immediately, though, apologizing. “It’s just… we can’t really afford going to the doctor right now, okay? Come on, let’s keep moving.” He doesn’t wait for their answer before stepping back into the stream of morning commuters, sticking to the buildings and avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Dejun isn’t a big fan of being out and about during the day. Part of it is to protect their skin and feet, but it also has to do with how uncomfortable he feels under the eyes of every citizen around them. Kunhang won’t lie and say he doesn’t feel scrutinized, because he does, but he knows Dejun has a harder time than they do.

Even before, Dejun was never one to join big crowds. He was placed in charge of his own division of guardian angels because he used to be the best at it, and because he’s good at guiding people and helping out where he’s needed, but it wasn’t exactly the type of job that needed him to interact with too many people at once.

Yangyang and Kunhang, on the other hand, had to deal with thousands of new souls each day, and they never had a problem with it. This is probably why they can easily shrug off the stares. For the most part, at least. Kunhang will admit, sometimes it can be somewhat nerve wracking.

Like right now, when it’s so early in the morning and most of the people on the streets are dressed sharply in suits and ties, carefully polished shoes, and sharp haircuts. These are the people Kunhang hates encountering the most, because they’re the most judgemental.

Sometimes, they’ll meet people with kind hearts. One time, a lady with a stroller saw them and gifted them a water bottle she had with her in her purse, and gave them some spare change. Another time, a bunch of kids gave them a bag of chips they had bought recently, only because they’d seen Dejun and thought he was handsome. A schoolgirl gave them half a loaf of bread. Ordinary people, going about their ordinary lives that found it in their hearts to be kind to another living being, just because.

Meanwhile, the ones around them at the moment, that have everything they could possibly need or want, won’t spare them the time of day. Kunhang reminds himself he loves all of humanity, even the rotten ones. Or so he tries.

They finally reach the church. They know it’s the one because of the sign on the entrance that reads something about charity projects, and an additional note detailing that anyone interested in looking through the donations is to go straight through the church and knock on the priest’s office.

Kunhang feels a chill run down his spine as they enter the building. He feels equally welcomed and rejected by the energy, as if the Holy Spirit itself couldn’t figure out what to make of them. There’s a large painting of Virgin Mary that seems to follow them as they walk across the centre hall, as well as a crucified Jesus that Kunhang swears is bleeding for real.

“This feels weird,” Yangyang mutters. Kunhang nods, quickening his pace. Dejun is the only one walking slower than normal, staring at the altar like he wants to kneel down and pray. Kunhang sort of wants to do that too, but he’s desperate to get out of here, all the same.

The find the office and knock gently, hoping they look if only a little presentable. The door swings open to reveal a man in his mid-forties, balding at the front wearing thin-rimmed glasses, his priest habit pristine clean. He smiles upon seeing them, and it’s a genuine smile. Kunhang didn’t expect that.

“Hello, what can I do for you?” the priest greets them.

Kunhang gapes, lost for words. Thankfully, Yangyang seems to have his mind put together and he says, “Um, we’re here for the donations…? A lady said you have shoes.”

Well, that’s one way to go about it. The priest blinks and he nods, ushering them inside. “Of course! I’m Father Wonshik, I’m in charge of this parish.”

The three walk inside the office gingerly. Kunhang is too busy scanning his surroundings, and once again it’s Yangyang who answers, “I’m Yangyang, and these are my friends Dejun and Kunhang.”

“My, you’re foreigners, aren’t you?” the priest asks, simply out of curiosity. He’s so _honest_ and Kunhang doesn’t know how to respond. The priest is already rummaging through some boxes stacked against the wall, bringing some of them to his desk and motioning them to look around. “I see Korea hasn’t been treating you very well, that’s a shame. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Thank you,” Kunhang manages, finally, and he hates that he stutters.

They dig around the boxes carefully. Kunhang is grateful to find that most items are in good conditions, some older than others. He finds a pair of socks and folds them over his hands, thinking he’ll be able to walk now.

“Take these shoes, too,” the priest offers him. He’s holding a pair of sneakers than, while they have seen better days, still have some life left in them. “And, if you don’t mind me saying, young man, you ought to have those feet checked out.”

“Oh,” Kunhang looks down at his feet, blushing, “It’s really not that bad.”

The priest waves him off, placing the shoes in his hands. “There’s a Red Cross tent setting up in our courtyard in two days. You three should come back then, it’s free and they give most of the medications they would normally prescribe you in a hospital.”

“Would they be able to check on his lungs?” Yangyang asks suddenly, pointing at Dejun. In spite of his protests, Yangyang continues, “He’s breathing really badly.”

The priest pushes his glasses up his nose and says, “I don’t see why not. He might need nebulization, and they have a machine for that.”

Yangyang ignores the stink eye Dejun sends him in favour of chatting animatedly with the priest, who commends him for his grasp on the Korean language. Kunhang doesn’t know how to follow that conversation and instead refocuses on the boxes. He guesses he could do with a spare shirt.

Before they can leave, the priest hands them a backpack. “Here, so you can keep your things in it. That way you don’t have to hold everything in your hands.” It’s an innocent enough offer, except Kunhang knows it’s because their things won’t probably last long at a refuge.

And then, as they exit the office, the priest clasps his hands together and bows, saying, “May God bless you, boys, and good luck.”

“I knew it,” Kunhang hisses to them, speeding down the hall.

Outside the church, Dejun and Kunhang share a look that’s worth a thousand words. Yangyang whines, “So, are you two going to stop doing that anytime soon, or? I don’t like it when you guys exclude me.”

“Sorry,” Dejun half means it. “But, we think some angels are helping us. We just don’t know why.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Yangyang scoffs, crossing his arms. He’s wearing a new(ish) jacket to protect him from the cold. “I think it’s been obvious, especially the priest.”

“I don’t think the priest was an angel, though,” Kunhang shakes his head. “He seemed human.”

“No, but he’s a man of faith,” Yangyang says. “I wouldn’t put it past our kind to enter his dreams and tell him to look out for three homeless guys with a funny accent.”

Dejun frowns. “Our accent isn’t funny, is it?”

“Okay,” Kunhang nods, “So, they were helping us. But I think this is as far as they can go. The way he wished us good luck…”

“It sounded final,” Yangyang finishes for him.

The words hang heavy in the air. Somehow, the realisation that this might be the last time they receive help from their peers is saddening, but Kunhang is glad they were around all the same.

“What do we do now?” Dejun asks. “We have the entire day to kill before we can go back to the refuge.”

“Look for jobs?” Yangyang stretches his arms above his waist and yawns. “Or we can go to the park and watch the pigeons. Or we can look for Bella!”

“I’m pretty sure we can do all that in a day,” Kunhang snorts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leave a comment to fuel my inspiration so i can hopefully post the next chapter sometime this year ;;


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yangyang calls out that he’ll change the bed-sheets, already stripping the mattress. Dejun isn’t quick enough to exit the bathroom before Yangyang has found the journal tucked between the mattress and the bedframe.
> 
> “You kept this?” Yangyang asks. There’s nothing but curiosity in his voice, already riffling through the pages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this took so long T.T
> 
> warning for explicit smut ahead!

The landlord stalls as long as he can before giving them the keys.

Kunhang waits patiently while the man goes over the rules and conditions again. It isn’t anything they haven’t heard before or anything that he didn’t specify already in their contract, but the man rambles either way. He isn’t particularly old, Kunhang thinks he might be in his late thirties, but stress has taken a toll on him: receding hairline, a pot belly, and a permanent scowl on his face leave a rather strong impression on anyone that meets him.

Kunhang wonders if his apprehension comes from there being three of them, if it’s because they look so young, or if it’s because they’re all foreigners to his eyes. Or maybe it’s because all of those reasons.

Maybe it’s because they have a dog with them.

Bella is the best behaved dog of all times, if Kunhang is honest. After a doctor at the Red Cross tent noticed the dog hanging around them, not leaving their sides for a second, he asked if she was their therapy dog. Once he realised they didn’t know what he meant, he explained that some dogs train to help those who aren’t mentally well, and that Bella seemed to be one of those dogs.

Before they left that day, the doctor handed them a note where he stated explicitly that Bella was Yangyang’s therapy dog. It helped them tremendously in keeping her around, especially when they stayed at refuges that didn’t allow animals inside. Even if she had to stay chained at the back of the building through the night, she was always there the next morning.

Currently, Bella sits patiently behind Dejun’s legs. Dejun has warmed up to her over the course of the weeks, and she’s thrilled every time he lets her sleep on his lap or nip at his hands.

Sensing that the landlord won’t be relenting anytime soon, Yangyang clears his throat, interrupting him, and says, “Excuse me, sir, but it’s almost time for our shift, and we would like to change into our uniforms now.”

Kunhang tries to keep his smile on the right side of polite as the man turns a ridiculous shade of red and drops the keys in Yangyang’s hand. The door to the apartment slams closed seconds later and Kunhang releases a breath.

“I thought he was never going to leave,” Dejun grumbles, walking with them to the bedroom. He’s still dressed in his work uniform, save for his shoes, and Kunhang suspects he’s three seconds away from passing out. “He looked ready to revoke your contracts.”

“Ah, but that would be illegal, just like the contract he had us sign,” Yangyang taps the key to his temple. “I wasn’t lying, though; we really are going to be late if we don’t change now.”

Dejun pouts and flops face down on the bare mattress. There’s one bed in the apartment, perhaps because the place is so tiny, but they don’t mind sharing. They’ve been sharing a bed for what feels like an eternity already. “What time do you get off?”

“Seven,” Kunhang says. He can’t get his head through the hole in his shirt and he needs Yangyang’s help to pull it down. “When’s yours starting?”

“Seven thirty.” Kunhang doesn’t need to look at Dejun to know he’s upset. “I guess I’ll only see you for a half hour, then?”

“We’ll make it up to you!” Yangyang grins, a promise. Kunhang watches him lean forward and plant a small kiss on Dejun’s lips before skipping out of the apartment. Dejun stares after him with a blush high on his cheeks.

It’s a recent development. Sometime between coming to terms with their fate and realising they’re all they have, small acts of comfort became stolen kisses and lingering touches. They don’t have a name for it; it could be _Yangyang gets cold at night_ , or _Dejun likes the physical affection_ , or simply _Kunhang loves them both a lot._

“You should change into something more comfortable,” Kunhang reminds Dejun lightly. He’s fiddling with the tie on his uniform, making sure everything is in place before he leaves for his first shift. “Get some rest; we’ll see you in the morning.”

They don’t own pyjamas, but they do have some clothing in even worse conditions than the ones they wear daily and thus have fallen under the category of sleepwear. Dejun rummages through one of their bags (they have two! Two bags of belongings! Kunhang still can’t believe it) until he finds the worn sweatpants he likes. Before he has the chance to change, Kunhang presses his lips to Dejun’s cheek.

“I have to go now,” he says apologetically. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Dejun murmurs back.

Dejun is still the shyest when it comes to everything regarding… this, whatever it is. Even though he’s clearly the one that enjoys it the most, preening when they hold his hand or when Yangyang latches onto him at night because he’s cold, he freezes when they kiss him. Kunhang doesn’t think he’s seen him initiate a kiss, at least not since the first time it happened.

He’s not thinking about that night now. He needs to get through his shift with a clear head.

~

Regardless of his efforts, Kunhang ends up thinking about it.

It isn’t his fault that working as the night guard at a containers bay is boring as all Heaven. He and Yangyang have completely different routes, which means they don’t run into each other at all during the night. Kunhang has to come up with increasingly imaginative ways to keep himself awake and alert as the night progresses. There comes a point where kicking the same rock is no longer interesting.

A stray cat follows him around for the better part of an hour. It’s a brown tabby, skinny but not apparently starved, and it flicks its ears at Kunhang as a greeting. Later, Kunhang spends perhaps five minutes looking up at the moon. It’s a full moon tonight, and Kunhang can see perfectly under her light.

The thought creeps up on him. One second he’s shining his flashlight in the direction of a container, the next he feels the phantom touch of Yangyang’s lips on his jaw. He shudders, shakes his head and tries to think of anything else, to no avail.

They had been at another refuge. This one had better quality sheets and pillows, but the light in the room flickered on and off so often they simply turned it off. They were, admittedly, a little drunk on something another man had smuggled into the building. Yangyang had been all over Kunhang, uncomfortable, annoyed at one thing or another, and looking for comfort.

Kunhang remembers laughing drunkenly as Yangyang wiggled around, quickly stopping when Yangyang’s mouth brushed his jaw. Kunhang thought he would have been disgusted, or bothered by it. He hadn’t expected how he instinctively chased Yangyang’s mouth when the other boy pulled away.

Their first kiss was clumsy. Neither of them knew what they were doing (well, Kunhang didn’t know what he was doing) and their coordination was off. It still lit a fire from the bottom of Kunhang’s belly to the tips of his fingers. They pulled apart for maybe three seconds before they were kissing again, until Dejun cleared his throat.

Kunhang could feel Yangyang stiffen as his fight or flight impulse put him on edge. Kunhang almost didn’t want to look at Dejun, didn’t want to see the potential anger in his eyes. By then, Dejun still clung onto a thread of hope that Kunhang admired.

Dejun wasn’t angry. He didn’t look like he cared much about them kissing. Kunhang thought he looked more upset at not being included.

It was with that thought in mind that Kunhang brushed Yangyang off him (and when, exactly, had he climbed into his lap?) so he could reach Dejun. With one hand perched on Dejun’s nape, Kunhang waited for three seconds to see if Dejun would push him away, and when he didn’t, he brought their lips together.

It was a mere brush. Kunhang pulled away to check on Dejun and became pleasantly surprised when Dejun surged forward and kissed him again, firmly. Kunhang found himself on his back, Dejun leaving one last kiss on his lips before moving onto Yangyang. Dejun's mouth on his muffled Yangyang's squeal of excitement.

Kunhang doesn’t know how long they kissed. All he remembers after that is the way his lips were numb and his heart wouldn’t stop beating erratically. He remembers Dejun and Yangyang trying to kiss him at the same time, and teaming up with Yangyang against Dejun.

Kunhang shakes himself out of the memory. He needs to focus on his task, not reminisce on what’s most likely been the best night of his existence. They’ve had other nights like it again, though that one remains his favourite.

The night turns to day before Kunhang notices, and their shift is up. He goes into the office to hand over the keys and sign out, where the secretary offers him a glass of water, “Or coffee, if you’d prefer?”

He takes her up on the offer for water and thanks her with a smile, then runs into Yangyang as he exits the building. There’s a suspicious brown stain on his shirt.

“How was your night?” Yangyang asks him. He looks exhausted, but a smile paints his face as he talks to him. “I saw a cute cat.”

“Me, too,” Kunhang reciprocates the smile. “I’m starving, though. Is that a coffee stain?”

“Uh, yeah?” Yangyang grins sheepishly. “It’s okay, though, the lady said cleaning it shouldn’t be too difficult if I hurry!”

The office is one bus ride away from their new apartment. They could walk the way back, just as they did last night, but they’re too tired to walk any further. They can smell breakfast before they enter their apartment, and it has Kunhang’s stomach growling. They find Dejun in the kitchen, already dressed for his own job at the grocery store, making breakfast for the three of them. Bella naps at his feet.

The sight is so disgustingly domestic. Kunhang smiles immediately and rushes through the motions of taking off his shoes. Then, he nearly barrels into Dejun’s back, set on smothering him in a hug.

“I missed you,” Kunhang wails. Dejun almost drops the bread slices he was holding. “That shift was so boring!”

“Hey,” Yangyang says. Kunhang can hear his pout. “What about me?” He’d taken his shirt off immediately after entering the apartment, and Kunhang can hear the hum of the washing machine. Kunhang doesn’t know what it says about him that he was so excited to have a washing machine in the apartment.

“I missed you, too.” Kunhang extends an arm out as a silent invitation and Yangyang happily makes his way to them.

Dejun sighs in fake annoyance, leaves their meals on the counter, and turns so he can hold them properly. “I missed you, too,” he says. “It was kind of lonely to sleep by myself.”

“Only kind of?” Yangyang teases him.

“Very lonely,” Dejun amends.

Later, while Dejun prepares to leave for his shift, Kunhang fills Bella’s bowl of food and watches Yangyang do his best to keep Dejun in the apartment as long as he can. He hides Dejun’s nametag in his pant pocket and sits on Dejun’s socks, smiling the entire time. Dejun entertains him for five minutes before reminding him he can’t be late for work.

“We have the same day off this week,” Dejun tells him, “We can hang out then.”

Yangyang makes a show of sulking. Kunhang knows he’s acting up as an attempt at lightening the mood, considering how upset Dejun was last night and seeing how little time they’ll get to spend together.

Finally, Dejun leaves the apartment with a smooch on his cheek from Yangyang and a wave from Kunhang. Yangyang, dressed in sleepwear, yawns widely, his energy finally drained, and he urges Kunhang to join him for bed.

“I’m so tired,” Yangyang whines. “My legs hurt.”

“My feet are killing me,” Kunhang huffs out a laugh. “I want to sleep for a year.”

“Same.” Yangyang shifts, lies on his side and wiggles closer to Kunhang. He’s like a furnace from so much body heat and Kunhang unconsciously presses up against him.

When he isn’t actively trying to keep them happy, Yangyang becomes quiet, taciturn. Now, he rests his head on the pillow and breathes slowly, his breath wafting over Kunhang’s exposed collarbones, and Kunhang is completely enraptured by the way his eyelashes cast shadows over his cheeks.

“Let’s just sleep, yeah?” Kunhang says softly. “We’ll wake up at, I don’t know, noon? And we’ll have lunch.”

“Yeah,” Yangyang sighs. He’s asleep within seconds.

~

Their shared day off comes a week after. They sleep until later than usual, the sun high in the sky when they decide to start their day. Well, they all wake up at five am, synchronized, because they’re used to refuges kicking them out at dawn or having to vacant motel rooms to go to early works and gigs, and they all looked around frantically until they remembered they didn’t have to rush anywhere.

The second time Kunhang wakes up, he blinks the sleep away and sighs. He has a nose to his ear on one side and an arm over his chest on the other. He’s certain that’s Dejun’s erection against his thigh, the flimsy fabric of his pyjama pants doing nothing to hide it. Yangyang’s snoring softly into the pillow.

It’s a little too warm for comfort, but Kunhang doesn’t want to move. He slept well last night, he doesn’t have to get up yet, and he especially doesn’t want to disturb his partners. Kunhang smiles at the ceiling, dopey.

Dejun shifts in his sleep and presses closer. Kunhang’s smile widens in amusement, feeling the hard line of his boner. Dejun always pretends it’s not there when he wakes up, rushing to the bathroom because he allegedly has to go to work or saying they need to vacant the room. Kunhang wonders what he’ll say this time.

Minutes later, while Kunhang dozes on and off, Yangyang wakes up. His arm moves away from Kunhang’s body while he stretches, and Kunhang is definitely awake now. He doesn’t mean to ogle at him so openly, except Yangyang is a bit of a masterpiece and Kunhang is, as of recently, only human.

Yangyang offers him a sleepy smile and flops back on the mattress, more or less climbing on top of Kunhang in search of affection. Kunhang laughs, a little breathless still at the sight of Yangyang’s naked torso, and accommodates him.

“Morning,” Yangyang says. “What time is it?”

“No idea,” Kunhang giggles. “Isn’t that great?”

Yangyang nods against his neck. “Is Dejun dead to the world?”

The mention of their third partner reminds Kunhang of Dejun’s situation, which he’d momentarily forgotten thanks to Yangyang. Kunhang motions Yangyang to get closer, leans in, and whispers in his ear. Yangyang’s eyes light up in understanding.

Yangyang’s kisses taste of sunshine and laughter. They’re full of energy, sloppy and beautiful, like him. Their lips clash together, teeth knocking, and Yangyang only laughs in delight, readjusting the angle before he dives back in. Kunhang bites Yangyang’s bottom lip until it’s tender and Yangyang moans.

They kiss for a while without doing anything else. They’re still half-asleep, their bodies seemingly attached to the mattress, and Kunhang is too happy like this. Dejun moves minutely when they accidentally jostle him, but he stays asleep. Yangyang blows his sleeping figure a silent kiss and Kunhang has to keep kissing him.

When Kunhang is sure that’s Yangyang’s boner stirring to life, he deepens their kiss. He slips his tongue alongside Yangyang’s and licks at his gums, pride swirling inside of him when he hears him gasp. Yangyang moves slowly, rubbing against his thigh while Kunhang steals the breath from his lungs.

Kunhang sneaks a hand between their bodies to rub at the front of Yangyang’s sweatpants. Yangyang makes a sound of appreciation that Kunhang swallows, and he thinks Yangyang would have come from just that if Dejun hadn’t woken up.

“You two are shameless,” says Dejun’s muffled voice. Kunhang laughs and detaches from Yangyang, hands and all. Yangyang protests lightly, settling when Kunhang’s hand splays across his thigh.

“Good morning to you, too,” Kunhang greets. “You’re not much better off yourself, so don’t get cocky.”

Dejun finally lifts his head from the pillow. Kunhang sucks in a breath at the sight of Dejun’s blown out pupils and rosy cheeks, a tell-tale sign that he’s been awake and aware for far longer than Kunhang thought. He wonders how he might have missed that, but then remembers Yangyang is an effective distraction.

“What are you talking about?” Dejun sighs. Yangyang and Kunhang look down at the general direction of Dejun’s morning wood and his blush deepens. “Shut up.”

“We didn’t say anything,” Yangyang giggles. “You’re welcome to join us, though.”

“You’re shameless,” Dejun hisses.

“You said that already,” Kunhang grins.

Dejun doesn’t dignify that with an answer. He simply rolls onto his back and motions for Yangyang to lean down, which he does with an excited smile. Kunhang watches them kiss languidly – Dejun kisses so differently from Yangyang, and unlike Kunhang, he prefers to lead, which means Yangyang has to settle for a slower pace – and can only hold his tongue for perhaps two minutes.

“Why do I always end up beneath one of you while you make out with each other?” he complains. Yangyang still hasn’t left his lap, his torso stretched across the two of them. Kunhang won’t deny his tightening grip on Yangyang’s thigh, however.

“You’re a baby,” Dejun tells him. Still, he brings Kunhang to his level and curls their tongues together. Yangyang, unlike Kunhang, is perfectly comfortable watching them and doing nothing else.

As soon as Dejun pulls away from him to brand his neck with his mouth, Yangyang takes his place. Kunhang doesn’t have time to breathe between one kiss and another, and he loves it like that.

Kunhang’s lips are swollen when Yangyang decides he’s had enough. Kunhang can tell there’s something bothering him right away, his shifty eyes a dead giveaway.

“What’s wrong?” Kunhang frowns. Dejun resurfaces at the change in tone, concerned. “Do you want to stop?”

“No,” Yangyang shakes his head. Kunhang would make a comment about how he’s not a chair if Yangyang didn’t seem so insecure. “I just. I want to try something.”

“What is it?” Dejun asks.

Yangyang looks at Kunhang. “That thing,” he licks his lips, “that thing the workers were talking about the other morning.”

“Oh,” Kunhang says in understanding. He knows exactly what Yangyang means. The morning workers were crude, that day, but Kunhang will admit he thought about it several times ever since. “With me? Or Dejun?”

“Honestly?” Yangyang smiles shyly, “I’ve been thinking about trying with Dejun since I heard about it.”

“What are you talking about?” Dejun whines.

“I think it’s called a blowjob,” Kunhang informs him.

Dejun makes a muffled sound of embarrassment and hides his face behind his hands. “Where did you even hear about that?”

“The morning crew,” Yangyang says. “You don’t want to?”

“No. I mean, yes!” Dejun rushes to explain. “I do. I just don’t think I’ll last long if you do that.”

“I’m three seconds away from coming untouched,” Yangyang deadpans. Kunhang laughs at Dejun’s reddening ears. “But it’s alright if you don’t want to do it.”

Dejun shakes his head, takes a deep breath, and meets Yangyang’s gaze. “I want to. Really.”

Yangyang smiles and scampers off Kunhang’s lap, who misses the weight immediately. He doesn’t say so, too busy staring at Yangyang as the boy slides between Dejun’s legs on the bed and waits patiently for Dejun to give him the okay.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Dejun says, looking up at the ceiling. “I can’t even look down or I’ll –”

Yangyang effectively cuts off his words by pulling his pants down. Kunhang can’t tear his gaze away from the sight before him, watching Yangyang take Dejun in hand and stroke experimentally.

This isn’t the first time they’ve touched each other, so Yangyang knows what he’s doing so far. Dejun hisses and throws his arm over his eyes, muttering something about Yangyang and his grave. Kunhang’s eyes travel to Dejun’s exposed neck and he ponders his options before deciding life is too short.

Dejun doesn’t seem to know whether to pull away from them or seek more. His free hand cards through Kunhang’s hair while Kunhang leaves bruise after bruise on the tender skin, and his mouth stays open in an endless stream of sighs and praise meant for Yangyang.

The next time Kunhang looks down, Yangyang has his lips wrapped around the head of Dejun’s cock, his eyes closed. Whether he closed them to concentrate or to savour it, Kunhang isn’t sure. It’s probably both. What he does know is that Yangyang looks too good like that.

He can’t help but reach out and pet Yangyang’s hair as he lowers his head to take more of Dejun into his mouth. Kunhang trails his hand back up, brushing Dejun’s nipples and Dejun moans, low and breathy, and then he’s urging Yangyang to pull off. Yangyang detaches his lips from him just in time for Dejun to come, his cum nearly getting on Yangyang’s chin. Kunhang pictures Yangyang’s face covered in white, an unbidden image that’s gone in a split second, and he decides it’s something he has to see with his own eyes one day.

“Yangyang,” Kunhang croaks. There’s no words needed.

Yangyang clambers back up and kisses Kunhang desperately. Kunhang doesn’t waste a second, lowering their pants just enough to take both their cocks in his hand. He strokes them to completion, with Yangyang fucking into his fist and rubbing against him. Kunhang doesn’t notice Dejun leaving the bed nor does he hear the sink running, more preoccupied with Yangyang’s tongue in his mouth.

They come together, and afterward don’t move away from each other until Dejun returns to bed with a damp hand towel. Dejun makes quick work of cleaning them up, pecking their cheeks in turn before retreating again, saying he wants first shower. It’s a testament to how spent he is that Yangyang doesn’t make any quips about joining him.

~

They’re much touchier than usual for the rest of the day. For instance, Kunhang exits the bathroom, hair damp, and finds them kissing lazily by the kitchenette. Or later, when they’re preparing to leave the apartment to run errands, and Kunhang spends a solid minute attached to Yangyang, peppering kisses on his nape just to hear him giggle.

They don’t discuss what they are. They haven’t done it before, and why should they? As long as they’re happy.

~

They do their grocery shopping, first thing. Kunhang is in charge of their budget, their wallet tucked safely in the back of his pants. Dejun and Yangyang squabble over the grocery list, with Dejun arguing they need to focus on the necessities while Yangyang insists they can afford to buy salty chips.

The convenience store is only one bus trip away from the building. The hallways are nicely illuminated and the shop itself is stocked full of everything they need, so Kunhang guesses it’s a good place to frequent. He would be more comfortable if the man at the counter hadn’t started trailing them the second they stepped foot into the establishment, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Perhaps his partners notice they’re being watched like hawks, too, because they drop their shenanigans and finish browsing the shelves quickly, dumping everything on the basket in Kunhang’s arm and paying for it in record time.

They stop at a thrift store to buy a few other things they need. Dejun is dead-set on buying new cutlery and plastic containers he can take to work, so he doesn’t spend extra money on buying lunch while at work. Yangyang sees three cups of coffee shaped like cats and decides they’re buying those, whether they like it or not. Kunhang goes along with it, because he thinks the cups are cute.

It’s later in the day that things go sour.

After having lunch – they make sandwiches, barefoot in the kitchen, arguing over whether to use bacon or ham and laughing at each other – and napping for an hour, they clean the apartment. With their long shifts and side gigs, there hasn’t been time to tidy up properly behind themselves. They’ll do laundry because they need their uniforms clean, and they wash the dishes to avoid any creepy crawler, but that’s it.

Dejun slaps rubber gloves on, directs Yangyang to sweep the floor, tells Kunhang to clean the kitchen, and promptly disappears into the bathroom with a bucket full of soapy water and a sponge.

They clean in relative silence for the first hour. Kunhang scrubs at the grease stains on the counter until the surface is squeaky clean, and then moves every piece of silverware and kitchen equipment to ensure everything’s clean and taken care of. He can hear Dejun whistle to himself in the bathroom, and Yangyang hums under his breath while sweeping under the bed, but that’s it.

Yangyang calls out that he’ll change the bed-sheets, already stripping the mattress. Dejun isn’t quick enough to exit the bathroom before Yangyang has found the journal tucked between the mattress and the bedframe.

“You kept this?” Yangyang asks. There’s nothing but curiosity in his voice, already riffling through the pages.

Kunhang swears you could hear a pin drop in the apartment. Dejun stands at the doorframe, staring at Yangyang as he reads what appears to be the first page, and his expression shuts off.

“Are you guys okay?” Kunhang calls from the counter. He doesn’t like the silence, so he approaches the bedroom as well. “What’s going on?”

Dejun doesn’t answer. Neither does Yangyang, staring at something on the little journal. Everything Kunhang has feared since their descent is coming true and he can’t do anything about it. The realisation hits him like a ton of bricks.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Yangyang asks. His tone has taken on a neutral tone and Kunhang hates it even more than if he were angry.

“I can explain,” Dejun tries. “Yangyang, I swear.”

“You’ve had this for months,” Yangyang continues, “And you never thought of telling me?”

Kunhang eyes them both with increasing nervousness. He still doesn’t know what might have been in that journal, but he’s starting to dread finding out. Dejun sighs and hangs his head, muttering something to the ground before he raises his head again.

“It was at the barn,” Dejun says. Yangyang snaps that he already knows that and Dejun flinches. “We found it tucked between some of those boxes. When I saw who left it there, I thought about throwing it away. Or burning it. But then I saw it had actually valuable stuff written in it. I’m not an idiot – I knew we would need it.”

“Who left it?” Kunhang demands. “Could one of you just tell me what’s happening?”

Yangyang’s eyes turn to him. They pierce through him like daggers. “Hyungwon.”

Kunhang can’t help his gasp. Yangyang barely looks at him a second longer before his attention turns back to Dejun. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I?” Dejun retorts. “Don’t you think he’s done enough already?”

Something dawns on Yangyang and he gapes at Dejun. “You’re jealous,” he says.

“What?” Dejun asks in bewilderment.

“You’re jealous of him. That’s why you wouldn’t show me it. What, did you think he’d rise from the dirt if I knew?”

Dejun visibly swallows his tongue, not rising to the bait. Yangyang doesn’t take the hint and goes off on him, his voice increasingly louder as he gets more worked up. Kunhang remains rooted to the spot, watching a disaster unfold in front of him.

Finally, Dejun seems to have enough of Yangyang’s yelling. “He ruined you; he ruined all of us, why the hell would I tell you about that journal?” He seems surprised at his own curse, yet it flies over their heads in the heat of the argument.

Yangyang inhales, ready to continue his spiel, but Kunhang beats him to it. “Would you two cut it out? For the love of God, it’s been months!”

Regardless of the burning in his throat as he uses His name, Kunhang rushes through with his words, not letting either of them edge in a word otherwise. “Dejun, I know you have hopes of returning to Heaven, but that’s not happening. Yangyang committed a huge sin and we aided, it’s over for us.

“And you. Yangyang, please understand that Dejun doesn’t want you to get hurt again. Neither of us wants that. We’re just trying to protect you, just like we have been since this entire mess started.”

Silence falls over the bedroom. Kunhang stands there, panting from his outburst, and hopes against hope he could get through their thick skulls. The sun dwindles beyond their window, sunlight dirtied from the stained glass.

Yangyang inhales, exhales, and repeats the motions. He looks at Dejun and says, “Fine. I guess… I can see why you wouldn’t tell me.” Kunhang watches him nibble on his bottom lip, choosing his words carefully. “I know I ruined our lives. And I know you blame him for it. But you should also blame me.”

The lack of response from Dejun says enough. Yangyang smiles in self-reprimand and continues, “I’m sorry it spiralled into this. I shouldn’t have brought either of you into it.”

“You’ve said that before,” Dejun sighs. The fight is gone from his body, now. “And we’ve told you, we weren’t going to let you face all that by yourself. You’re… ours, I guess.”

Kunhang would think it romantic if it weren’t nearly literal.

“I’m sorry I blew up on you,” Yangyang apologizes, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, no, you were right,” Dejun says. “I mean, you were right about one thing. I am jealous of him. I think we both might be. But that’s not an excuse for hiding things from you.”

They look at each other. Kunhang can’t help a small smile, glad they were finally able to say the things they needed to say for months now. Dejun already seems lighter from his admission, and Yangyang mulls over his words for a moment.

“Why are you jealous of him?” Yangyang asks. He seems concerned, as if the idea were foreign and unreasonable.

Dejun squeaks and runs out of the room, saying he needs to finish cleaning the sink or something similar. Yangyang stares after him in confusion. “What does that mean?”

Kunhang snorts, glad that the tension has dissipated. “Think about it while you clean out the closet.”

~

Three weeks later, Yangyang returns from his shift earlier than Kunhang. They clocked out together, but a member of the morning crew told Kunhang they needed an extra hand unloading a truck at the cargo and that they would pay him a little extra for the job. After the secretary confirmed the payment, Kunhang sent Yangyang ahead, promising he’d be home after a few hours.

Dejun is neatly dressed in his uniform when Yangyang steps into the apartment. Bella, after wiping out what Dejun put on her plate, is napping on the worn out couch they acquired recently. Yangyang discards his shoes by the door and drags his feet to the couch, where he collapses face-first.

“Hey, where’s Kunhang?” Dejun says around a mouthful of toast. He’s looking at the door as if waiting for Kunhang to enter any second.

“Extra hours,” Yangyang says simply. “Home soon.”

Dejun hums in understanding and swallows his breakfast. Yangyang’s face is pressed to the couch cushion – which smells like dog fur – but he can hear Dejun wash something at the sink, pack his lunch and throw something in the trash.

They aren’t still arguing. But Yangyang can’t say things have been the same since he found the journal. The three read it over and over after the fight, and afterward Yangyang had urged them to dump it. “We don’t need it anymore, right?” he’d asked. So they had thrown it out.

Dejun still avoids Yangyang. He’s probably not doing it on purpose, even, but that doesn’t change the fact that Yangyang can tell. The few hours of the day they’re in the apartment at the same time, Dejun will talk to him, laugh with him, act completely normal. But comes night time, or even lulls in the conversation, and Yangyang can see him shut down, shut _him_ out. Which, okay, that’s what Yangyang had expected from the second he screwed up.

He didn’t think it would hurt this much, however.

Yangyang lifts his head when he feels Dejun sink on the couch next to him. “Don’t you have work?”

“Yeah,” Dejun murmurs, playing with his hands.

Yangyang is sleepy, and misses him, and his ability to think twice about things is gone for the time being, so he crawls the few inches forward and lays his head on Dejun’s thigh, closing his eyes with a sigh.

Dejun’s hand makes its way through Yangyang’s hair, combing back the bangs that are growing too long for his taste. They all need a haircut desperately, but there hasn’t been any time. Maybe they’ll get it done this weekend, if they can unglue themselves from the bed.

“I only have half a day today,” Dejun tells him, “So I’ll be back around two instead. Would you like to do something together then?”

“Nap,” Yangyang slurs. He’s already falling asleep.

Yangyang can’t see his face from here, but he thinks Dejun must be smiling. “Yeah, alright. We can nap when I get back.”

“And you won’t be mad at me anymore?”

The hand in his hair still for a second before Yangyang feels the fingers massage his scalp again. The sensation is soothing and Yangyang feels himself melt into a puddle. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why do you avoid me?”

Dejun sighs. “It’s not on purpose. I’m having a hard time adjusting to certain things, but I promise it isn’t your fault, or Hang’s. I’ll be okay, don’t worry.”

“Do you promise to tell us about it when you’re ready?” Yangyang prods.

He thinks he hears Dejun release a breathy laugh. “Yeah, I promise. Come on, now, I have to leave.”

By nothing short of a miracle, Yangyang is able to drag his heavy body across the floor to their room. Dejun trails after him, makes sure Yangyang brushes his teeth and changes into something more comfortable before sinking into their bed. Yangyang could moan at how relieving it feels to lie down after his shift. In fact, he’s pretty sure he does, because Dejun’s face turns beet red.

“I’ll see you in a few hours,” Dejun says, helping Yangyang untangle the duvet. He makes to leave, but Yangyang stops him with a hand on his sleeve, lips in a full pout. “I really have to go.”

Yangyang puckers his lips in response. Dejun sighs, leans down and allows Yangyang to pepper his cheek in kisses before leaving, saying something about having a proper meal when he wakes up instead of eating instant noodles again, but it falls on deaf ears. Yangyang is pretty much conked out by then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i know many aspects of this chapter are unrealistic but pls point me to what part of this entire series hasn't been that's right you can't
> 
> also the part where yangyang says the rent contract is illegal, i mean it as in they don't have any documentation! it isn't stated explicitly anywhere but for context, they get their documents after moving in with the others. and also, pretend like bella moved in with them to the house skjfskj


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I told you, Taeyong hyung says he didn't mean to spill so much blood."
> 
> "I know he didn't," a second voice says, "but that doesn't change the fact that our nice carpet is ruined beyond repair."
> 
> "You don't know that! We could totally get the stain out if we find the correct product."
> 
> "Winnie, there isn't enough bleach in the world to take out two litres of blood from a white carpet."
> 
> "Maybe you could use this one."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello hello how are you i finally sat my ass down and wrote this!!!

This store is farther from their apartment building, but it's also the only one in the area that sells the cleaning brand Dejun likes, so Yangyang makes the trip there after work. He has the grocery list in his hand, Dejun's messy scrawl detailing everything they need to buy. He's absolutely beat after the all-nighter, but he promised he would do the shopping this time. Dejun usually goes after work, but he's stuck closing the shop today and Kunhang already has the task of taking Bella to the vet.

Unlike their usual store, this one is much better illuminated. It's some sort of chain store, as far as Yangyang can tell, and the three-story building seems to house every product on the planet. Yangyang admits he's distracted by the videogames aisle, but only for a few minutes. He's here on a task, and he can't wait to go home and nap. He strolls down the produce section, picking out the best looking vegatables and fruits, and then spends perhaps five minutes in front of the dairy fridges — an entire  _ aisle  _ full of every kind of cheese, yogurts, milk, you name it — before he settles for the mozzarella square and a carton of low-fat milk.

Yangyang is browsing the house products section on the third floor when he overhears a conversation. He's sure he wasn't meant to hear, given the nature of it, but he can't help it if there's no one else around and they aren't being exactly conspicuous. Yangyang definitely doesn't hide behind a rack of colourful sponges, not  _ at all. _

"I told you, Taeyong hyung says he didn't mean to spill so much blood."

"I know he didn't," a second voice says, "but that doesn't change the fact that our nice carpet is ruined beyond repair."

"You don't know that! We could totally get the stain out if we find the correct product."

"Winnie, there isn't enough bleach in the world to take out two litres of blood from a white carpet."

"Maybe you could use this one."

Yangyang shrinks back as the strangers swivel to stare at him in shock. He extends his arm further, holding a bottle of bleach in his hand. He's still partly hidden by the sponges, but his face and arm are on clear view. "I mean, my roommate is constantly cutting his fingers with the kitchen knife and this thing is the only product that cleans up after him." He trails off, noticing that neither of them is paying attention to his half-assed explanation.

They are two men. One is tall, taller than Yangyang or his partners, sandy blond hair pushed off his forehead, and his ears are pointy, like one of those elves on TV. The other one is shorter than he is, with black hair and a chiseled jaw. He's handsome, Yangyang thinks absentmindedly. 

Tall guy takes the offered product, eyeing Yangyang warily. "Thank you," he says. "How much did you overhear?"

Yangyang gulps under the weight of their narrowed gazes. "Um, not much? Just that you have blood stains on a carpet?" He squeaks.  _ Way to go,  _ he thinks to himself.  _ That wasn't suspicious at all. _

The men share glances before focusing back on him. The handsome one — really, they're  _ both  _ handsome, Yangyang realises — takes a tiny step forward, just barely shielding his companion. Yangyang would gulp once more, if his mouth weren't uncomfortably dry. He readjusts his grip on the basket, fully prepared to run for it. Maybe they're serial killers, and Yangyang overheard them planning the best way to clean up after themselves. 

That's when he notices their eyes. 

Both men have distinctly reptilian eyes, one green while the other's are yellow. They both feature sideway slits for eyelids and, if Yangyang isn't mistaken, he thinks he sees a forked tongue sneak past Handsome Man's lips for a brief moment.

Yangyang gasps, his previous apprehension gone in the face of his discovery. "You're dragons!" He nearly shouts.

Equally startled gazes meet his. Tall Man takes a furtive glance around them to ensure there isn't anyone else around, while Handsome Man shushes him. 

"Don't you have an inside voice?" He hisses. Yangyang hangs his head, sheepish, but no doubt elated — he's right. "How did you know?"

Yangyang goes  _ huh? _ before recovering his composure. "It's pretty obvious. Your eyes and your tongue," he makes a vague motion with his hands, "They're pretty dead giveaways."

Tall Man hums. "You can see those?" He asks. He shares yet another look with Hansome Man. "Odd. Humans don't usually see through the spells."

Yangyang bites his tongue before he can blurt out something along the lines of  _ I wasn't always human, so that might be why. _ What he does say instead is, "Why would you need so much bleach?"

He thinks it's a fair enough question.

* * *

Per Hansome Man's insistance —  _ Kun,  _ he introduced himself, and Tall Man was  _ Sicheng —  _ Yangyang joins them for coffee on the second floor. There's a small food court, with five establishments selling fast food, two family owned restaurants, and a series of stands selling drinks or sweets. Sicheng, upon choosing a table a bit farther from the crowd and dumping the shopping bags on a spare chair, disappears in the throng of people with the promise of getting them all something to drink.

Which leaves Yangyang alone with Kun. Yangyang's protests die in his throat when Kun focuses forest green eyes on him, decidedly gentler than they were earlier when he thought Yangyang was going to… do whatever Kun thought. Yangyang can't imagine a situation in which anyone could beat two dragons.

"So," Kun says, amiably enough, "Yangyang. I don't imagine all that food is for yourself?"

If Yangyang were more comfortable, he'd snort and say something about subtlety. Instead, he shakes his head and says, "No. I live with two others." He doesn't offer anything else, and Kun doesn't push.

Before the silence can stretch into awkward territory, Sicheng returns to their table with three coffees on a tray. There are three small sugar cookies as well, wrapped in transparent plastic and decorated in pink ribbons. They have every bit the appearance of being complementary cookies. 

"Here we go," Sicheng places the tray gently on the table. "I got us hot chocolate, and tea for Kun," he distributes the drinks accordingly. 

Yangyang has never tried hot chocolate before. He takes a sip and tries not to outwardly show his elation, although he thinks he fails. Sicheng drinks from his cup, watching Yangyang like a hawk, while Kun hums pensively.

"It's good, huh?" Sicheng asks nonchalantly. "I think I've had some better before, but it's still nice. Don't you think so?"

Cautious, Yangyang has another taste and tries with every ounce of strength he possesses to come off as knowledgeable as be says, "Yeah, it's good. I like it." Perhaps a bit of dreaminess seeps into his tone at the end. He hopes they don't notice.

(Kun notices. Kun notices everything, from the hollow wrists to the sunken eyes. How Yangyang retreats into himself when they both look at him. How he makes a conscious effort not to appear too eager while drinking his hot chocolate, even if a blind man could tell he loved it.

Sicheng notices other things. He sees Yangyang's eyes follow a family of four as they carry a tray heaping with fried chicken and fries, how he licks his lips as another pizza is taken out of the oven. They both definitely hear his stomach grumble. It isn't a coincidence that the cookies end up on his side of the table.)

While Kun handles the conversation — he makes sure to ask Yangyang small things, like  _ what brand of shampoo did you get? —  _ Sicheng focuses on Yangyang's expressions. Yangyang seems flustered under their attention, fumbling a little over his words when he looks up and finds their eyes trained on him, and it almost makes Sicheng smile. The kid's cute, his laughter hiccupy when Kun cracks a bad joke.

"Are you gonna ask, or…?" Yangyang asks.

There's no point in pretending they don't know what he's talking about. Kun leans forward on his elbows, mainly so that he won't have to speak too loudly but also because he likes how Yangyang flushes at the proximity, and asks the million dollar question.

"What are you?"

A beat passes, then two. Yangyang gnaws on his bottom lip, looking everywhere but at him, and then he confesses, "I was an angel. Not anymore. I'm human now."

_ A fallen angel. _

* * *

One week later sees Yangyang waiting by the bus stop on his day off. He has a burner phone on his back pocket, only two numbers saved in contacts. It's a rainy day, and usually he would be sleeping until noon in their shared bed, but he has an appointment this time.

He told Kunhang and Dejun that he would be running errands all day as a side gig. Neither batted an eye, since they're all familiar with extra hours and paid favours as a way to earn more cash, and Yangyang feels a sting of guilt when he thinks about lying to them. It isn't as if he could easily tell them the truth, however. He's not even sure he knows what the truth is.

A car pulls up on the curb next to him, and the passenger's side window rolls down to reveal Sicheng, sunglasses perched on his head and a handful of french fries halfway to his mouth.

"Oi," Sicheng greets him, "Good morning, hop in."

Yangyang does. It's a red sports car, Yangyang can recognise it from TV and magazines, and he wonders how they can afford it. Kun waves hello from the driver's seat, cutting himself off mid-sentence to say, "Get out of my lane, asshole," at another car.

"Kun gets road rage," Sicheng mock whispers, offering Yangyang a brown bag. Whatever is inside smells good. "But I can't drive and we couldn't ask anyone else to come with us. Bon appetit," he adds.

"For me?" 

Kun snorts. "Of course it's for you. It's a bagel, cream cheese. We also got fries because Sicheng here doesn't know how to order McDonald's without getting fries."

"Their fries are the only thing that give meaning to my life," Sicheng gripes. He turns back to the road, but before he says, "I wasn't sure what you liked so we ordered something basic. I hope you like it."

If Yangyang didn't know any better, he would think Sicheng is shy. This is the fourth time he meets them within seven days, and one of those times involved him spilling his guts to them in a crowded diner, and he's never seen Sicheng get flustered.

(Well. There was that time Kun wiped sauce from the side of his mouth with a napkin, and Yangyang thought Sicheng would implode.)

Yangyang takes a bite of the bagel and moans. "Oh, my God. This is the best thing I've ever eaten."

Sicheng pulls his sunglasses back down and leans back on his seat, throwing Kun a winning smile. "I told you McDonald's was a good idea."

"I never said it wasn't," Kun grins back. Yangyang thinks he looks cool while he drives, but he also thinks Kun looks good doing anything. To Yangyang, Kun says, "It's a bit of a drive to our place from this district, so you might wanna get comfortable."

Yangyang is content to have his breakfast. Sicheng plays something on his phone, and the soft music is a nice companion to the drive. Sicheng and Kun bicker back and forth during the trip, and they include Yangyang every time, whether it's to ask him which side he's on or to ask for his opinion, but once they reach the countryside they fall quiet. They lower the hood of the car, Kun grinning secretly at Sicheng's gleeful expression as the wind ruffles his hair. 

Exhausted from the long week of work, Yangyang dozes off halfway through the trip, and by the time he wakes up, they've arrived at the house. Sicheng shakes his shoulder lightly as Kun presses a button on the dashboard and the gates swing open.

And, okay, Yangyang figured they had money. The sports car was enough of a sign, but he didn't expect the house to be so  _ large. _

Kun and Sicheng give him the tour first. "The others are at work and class," Sicheng explains, "it's not usually this quiet, so don't get used to it."

Yangyang cracks a smile. He likes how they already act as if it's a made deal, that Yangyang and the other two will be living here. 

They spend maybe five minutes in the garden, Kun telling him about all the flowers and plants with an excited grin, and when Yangyang meets Sicheng's eyes, the dragon offers him a fond shake of his head. Yangyang likes this — feeling like he belongs somewhere, even if it's just the two of them. 

He does ask a few questions. When they're in the basement — also known as sub-level 1, because there are even more rooms and living spaces — and Yangyang almost twists the doorknob to a room, Sicheng stops him with wide eyes. "That's not a good idea."

"Why?" Yangyang retracts his hand. He's not going to snoop around, but Sicheng's reaction has him on edge.

Sicheng and Kun share a glance. Kun says, "Um, that's where some of the guys keep their meals. It's not exactly a place the rest of us go."

That's cryptic. Yangyang doesn't press further.

They do show him the room that would be theirs. Yangyang peeks in, notes the bunk bed and the open balcony, and smiles a little. Sicheng explains that all the rooms have a similar balcony, and they're free to do whatever they want with it.

"The forest isn't particularly safe," Kun tells him. "The kids laugh in the face of danger so they like to go in and out, but most of us stay clear. Yuta and Hansol go there if they feel angsty, and sometimes Xuxi runs around close to the treeline, but…"

As he trails off, Yangyang steps off the porch and walks a smidge closer to the forest. He can't see anything out of the ordinary: the trees are lush green and, quite honestly, it's too dark to distinguish anything.

"What's in it?" He asks.

"A lot," Kun replies.

Yet another cryptic answer, Yangyang thinks to himself. Well, he doesn't mind. There's a room with meals (he definitely noted how they didn't use the term food) and a forest with things in it. Okay. He can work with that.

What's the worst that could happen?

* * *

They say time flies when you're having fun.

Yangyang supposes it's true. He blinks, and a year has gone by since they moved in with the guys. Approximately six months since they all gathered in the living room and Kun asked if they would like to be a part of the family, officially. "We already consider you it, but we shouldn't get ahead of ourselves."

"We understand if you… if you would prefer to go on your own," Johnny interjected. The idea seemed to weigh heavily on his shoulders.

"We want to stay," Dejun blurted out. He looked mortified at his outburst, but it was true. They'd talked about it already, especially once they realised this conversation was coming — none of the people sitting in this room could keep a secret if their lives depended on it.

Jaemin grinned. Donghyuck and Chenle slapped their knees and chanted, "One of us, one of us," in a way that wasn't entirely eerie. The effect was lost in Chenle's fluffy wings and Donghyuck's recently brown hair. Yangyang thought it made him look like a puppy, even more so than usual.

It didn't take them long to settle into a routine. The first order of business, as Kun called it, was to get them documentations. Kunhang mentioned offhandedly that they were working without IDs or anything of the sort, and Taeyong nearly blew a fuse before urging them to quit, because, "Most human businesses that hire people without proper ID or contracts aren't legal. Not all of them, but it happens too much. We'll get you your papers."

In the meantime, Dejun started working with Johnny in his shop. Donghyuck and Ten worked there, too, and they showed him the ropes, explaining where everything was and what it was for. Johnny taught him how to make a simple pouch in case he wasn't around, and Dejun went home every night starry eyed and panicking into the crook of Yangyang's neck because Johnny's tattoos moved and, "That was so cool, Yangie!"

Kunhang, on the other hand, went off to work with Kun at the bakery. There were other supernatural creatures there, and they were friendly, so of course Kunhang ended up with five new best friends in the blink of an eye. He always woke up earlier than they did, and they were out of the house before the sun fully rose, but Yangyang could tell Kunhang was happy with his new job. The grin on his face was enough to blind a man.

As it turned out, most of the guys work online. Sicheng, in addition to an office 9-5 job (which Yangyang only learned about after seeing him come home in suit and tie, grumbling about annoying corporate meetings), also teaches dance classes in the city during the weekend, and Hansol tutors kids while getting his Education degree, but everyone else works from home: Renjun and Chenle teach Chinese through Zoom, Taeyong sells handmade jewelry, Ten sells paintings, even Johnny brought his business online. 

Yangyang, after figuring out he's good at videogames, started working as a Beta tester for an online gaming company. Yuta hooked him up with the head of staff, who in turn only requested to have a one-on-one match with him to see what he was made of. Yangyang got the job fairly quickly.

After some time in the house, Yangyang worked up the courage to ask about certain things: specifically, to ask how they can afford so many luxurious things if most of them work regular jobs.

He asked Renjun, who thankfully didn't react at the odd question. They were in the pixy's room, Yangyang helping him set his desk again after Jaemin and Yukhei rough-housed it to the ground. They were both on time-out.

"Well, not everyone makes minimum wage," Renjun explained. "Johnny's shop isn't pricey, but some of his items are more special and he does charge for those. Some of Ten's comissions can go for thousands, if he knows who he's bargaining with. Sicheng ge earns a decent amount at his office job, even if he kind of hates it. And, uh, honestly? Most of the money comes from the vampires and the dragons."

"What do you mean?" Yangyang asked. Something shiny rolled out from under the fallen desk and Renjun dived for it, his pupils enlarged. Yangyang waited for him to respond.

"The vampires have jewellery from their past, and some of it has been really expensive," Renjun finally said, pocketing the shiny object. "And the dragons have their treasures. A good majority of it is still wherever they hide it, but what they do bring out covers most expenses. Including the new coffee maker every three weeks," he grumbled, and Yangyang laughed.

Most houseware didn't survive long in the house. Either someone knocked it to the ground, or it burned. Jisung and Jeno accidentally burnt the toaster at 3am, and Doyoung broke the sink on the first floor's bathroom by slamming his hands on it with excessive strenght. Yukhei ran into an open door and ripped it from its hinges. Donghyuck and Jaehyun melted the fancy mixer with some sort of potion. Sicheng inhaled cinnamon once on accident, sneezed, and burned the brand-new spices dispenser.

And, unbeknownst to anyone but Yangyang and Kunhang, the balcony doors in their bedroom were missing hinges. The only thing holding them up was sheer will. 

Yangyang also wanted to ask about university. He knew that Kunhang ached to go to nursery school, and Dejun also seemed interested in taking classes, even if he wasn't looking for a degree in itself. Yangyang wanted to join Renjun in Theology. 

That time, he mustered the balls and asked Kun. The dragon always drove the others to college if they needed, and he helped them however he could with their essays and assignments. Apparently, he tutored Renjun and Jaemin when they were kids and catching up to their peers, so he thought it was his best choice.

"There are plenty of community colleges in the area," Kun said. Yangyang helped him flip the meat on the grill while Kun tossed the salad. "If you want to take Theology, ask Renjun to show you around his campus."

"So, it's okay?" Yangyang asked.

Kun stopped what he was doing and looked at Yangyang, who in turn avoided eye contact. 

"Why wouldn't it be okay?" 

Yangyang shrugged. "I don't know. It's just… we've been here for some time, but none of us is bringing it that much money."

"And?" Kun prodded. After Yangyang remained silent, he sighed. "See? How much money you make has nothing to do with your education. You can go to college. And I'm more than happy to help Kunhang pay for his tuition at nursery school."

Regardless of how much Kunhang protested, Kun was a man of his word, and he signed him up the next week. 

* * *

In general, Yangyang thinks their stay in the house has been the best decision they've made. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> usually my chapters are longer but i genuinely could not squeeze anything else in or else it would have felt too forced ://
> 
> i wanted to make kun say "get out of my bitch ass lane" btw
> 
> and yes the end is the worst ever but my brain is FRIED and i need a nap


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know what we should do?" Donghyuck's exclamation is met with groans. He pouts, crossing his arms and saying, "You guys all suck."
> 
> Mark giggles. "What did you have in mind, Hyuck?"
> 
> "Dude," Jaemin hisses, "don't fall for it."
> 
> "Shush," Donghyuck slaps a hand over Jaemin's mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyheyhey, a bit of a boring chapter ahead, this one is mostly to set the relationships straight hehe

"I hate to sound like a broken record, but I still don't understand why this is necessary."

Kun continues to pull textbooks out of the shelves, dropping them on the table one by one. Jisung shrugs as an answer to Dejun's question. Dejun looks at Chenle and receives the same response. Yangyang keeps spinning his pencil round and round on the table, waiting for Kun to finish his scavenger hunt.

Dejun doesn't normally come down to sub-level 1. He doesn't _need_ to come here, realistically speaking, and he doesn't consider snooping to be a good enough excuse, either — he isn't Yangyang. Dejun is perfectly content to stick to the upper levels, even if his curiosity threatens to eat him from the inside out after Yangyang tells him about the mysterious feeding room. 

When they made the decision to start attending college, Kun volunteered to help them study and prepare for their first semester. He seemed excited, explaining to them that he had tutored Renjun and Jaemin before when Taeil — their usual tutor — was too busy with his studies, back when they were still young and Taeil was still getting his degree.

"I thought Hansol hyung was the tutor?" Yangyang asked Kun.

"Aren't he and Taeil professors?" Kunhang mirrored.

Kun nodded. He was covered in mud and leaves, as they were, because working in the gardens is a full-time job for Kun, as it would appear. Kun roped them into helping out while he explained what they would be doing before they could enroll in an university, which is how Dejun ended up buried knee-deep in a rosemary bush.

"They both have degrees in Education," Kun said. He ripped a dead plant from the dirt and moved it to the plastic bag held in Yangyang's hand. "Hansol hyung teaches the 3rd grade at an elementary school in our district, and Taeil hyung works with special needs kids."

"Wouldn't it take up too much of your time?" Dejun asked. He didn't want Kun to go out of his way for them, no matter how many times he insisted that he wanted to do it.

"Nonsense!" Kun exclaimed. He smiled in triumph when he found the root of the final dead plant. "I'm happy to help."

Which brings us back to today. 

They're in a study room in sub-level 1; two bookshelves line one of the walls, and a large table takes up more than half of the space. It's a small room, and not only did they have to walk sideways to reach their seats, Dejun, Jisung, and Kunhang are squeezed between the wall and the table. 

Kun, satisfied with the amount of books piled up on the table, takes a seat at the head of the table and grins. Chenle takes one look at his face and groans.

"I don't like that smile," he says. "It's the same smile he had on his face before he made me do trigonometric equations for an entire afternoon."

"I hate trigonometry," Jisung mumbles.

Kun's smile softens. "You don't have to do trigonometry today, Sungie. We can work on your history final instead."

Jisung eagerly agrees to that. Jisung is in his final year of high school, the only one left to graduate, and Dejun can't remember the last time he saw him without a book plastered to his face. He's been studying nonstop for weeks, getting ready for finals and college entrance exams. 

Now that they're on the same page, Dejun dreads the following afternoon. And all the afternoons to come.

"Chenle, you have a Color Theory exam you need to study for?" Kun looks at Chenle for confirmation. At his nod, Kun continues, "Okay, well, I don't know much about that, but I did find some interesting articles online that could help."

Chenle drags his own textbook out of his bag, places it on the table, and drops his head on top of the cover. Dejun hears him moan faintly. 

Kun sighs, spares him a last glance, and turns his attention to the three remaining victims. "As for you, I know you have basic knowledge on math, history, things like that, right?"

"Taeil hyung said it was like we drifted through school and absorbed random knowledge," Yangyang pipes up. "I don't really know where I picked up most of the things I know, the knowledge is just… there."

"That's normal," Kun nods, distributing college-ruled notebooks to the three of them. Dejun has no idea where those came from. "It happens a lot. Sicheng and I grew up in a small village with other dragons but we knew a lot of things about the human world."

"Working administration made me good with numbers," Dejun raises his hand. 

"That's great! It means we don't have to start with anything too basic, right? We can start with, say… equations? Or fractions?"

_**~~~** _

Kunhang hasn't lifted his face from the table in half an hour. Dejun knows he's sleeping, due to the steady rise and fall of his chest, and the fact he hasn't made a sound. Chenle has been snoring up a storm for the same amount of time. 

Kun left them to their own devices after the clock struck six in the evening, saying that it was enough for the day. Other than a break for lunch at noon, and another break for tea time — an interesting name, given most of them drank coffee instead of tea —, they studied for nearly eight hours. Dejun feels as if his brain bled out of his ears halfway through the study session. 

"Is studying always so," Yangyang waves his hand, "life draining?"

"Kind of," Jisung shrugs. "I mean, it's fun when it's a subject you're interested in."

"Unless you're studying for finals," Chenle mumbles.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I was, then I woke up." Chenle raises his head, looking at them sleepily. There's a trail of saliva down his chin, which he wipes away with his sleeve. "I really don't want to do this test."

"You've been working really hard on it," Jisung reassures him, "I think you're gonna do great."

Dejun glances at Kunhang's sleeping form, debating whether to wake him or not. Eventually, it's Yangyang who shakes him awake, laughing at Kunhang's dumbfounded expression.

Chenle grumbles something in response. Jisung rolls his eyes, and to the angels he says, "He always does that: he says he's going to fail and then aces his evaluations."

"Have you guys decided what you'll be studying?" Chenle asks, rather loudly. His way of changing the subject, perhaps. 

"I was thinking of nursery school," Kunhang rubs the back of his neck. "Kun ge said he'd pay for tuition but I don't know how I feel about that."

"Trust me, you better let him do it." Jisung packs his books, dumping them in his backpack and zipping it up. "If it would make you feel better, you can always find a way to make it up to him?"

"I cook Sicheng ge as a thank you for paying for mine," Chenle says, "and if I see something I think he would like, I buy it for him."

Jisung hums. "I don't think Taeyong hyung has noticed he never runs out of yarn or sewing supplies."

"And," Chenle says, stepping away so Yangyang can exit the room first, "Renjun keeps restocking Ten's drawers with shiny things."

"I've been meaning to ask," Yangyang frowns, "What the F is up with them and shiny things?"

Chenle laughs loudly. "I'll answer that if you say fuck."

Yangyang glares at him. Chenle raises his eyebrows in expectation. 

Dejun decides to ignore them. "To answer your earlier question," he says pointedly, "I was thinking of something like administration. Since I have… knowledge, on the subject."

"You're willingly going to study numbers?" Jisung asks. "That's so wrong."

Dejun has trouble recognising sarcasm sometimes, especially coming from people like Donghyuck, who has a deadpan voice and the perfect poker face, but Jisung is easy to read. 

"What about you, Yangyang?" Kunhang asks.

Yangyang breaks out of his staring contest with Chenle momentarily to answer, "I have no idea. I might take up Jeno on his offer to become street vendors."

They walk past the gym's open door. Jeno and Jaemin are inside, covered in sweat, laughing at one thing or another. Donghyuck is on the ground, lying like a starfish, and Renjun's fluttering around them. The pixy is the only one dressed in jeans and a hoodie, his wings poking out of the holes on the back. 

Chenle stops in his tracks and leans inside the room, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Yuck, it smells awful in here. How long have you been working out?"

"Uh," Jaemin looks at the clock on the wall, "Two hours?"

"Two hours!" Donghyuck wails. "It feels like an eternity, God, I'm dying!"

"Stop whining so much," Jeno laughs. "You're the one that wanted to work out with us in the first place."

Donghyuck sneers, "I should've known better."

Jisung elbows Chenle out of the way, sputtering when Chenle's feather wings get in his mouth, and smiles at Jaemin. Dejun is sure sparkly hearts shoot out of Jaemin's eyes right then.

"Hyung, if you guys are done, we could all go out for a meal or something?"

"Sure!" Jaemin agrees eagerly, taking Donghyuck by the arm and dragging his limp body across the floor. "Anyone else in the mood for sushi?"

"I'm not a fucking pillow, Na."

"Then, get up and walk by yourself, Lee."

"Jeno," Donghyuck whines, "carry me."

Dejun can't see Jeno from this angle, especially with the way Chenle and Jisung keep jostling each other out of the way in the middle of the doorway, but he hears him laugh. It's followed by Donghyuck's indignant squawk.

Jeno comes back into view with Donghyuck in his arms, bridal style. Renjun follows, cackling. 

"I meant a piggyback ride," Donghyuck grumbles. Jeno only smiles wider.

Dejun tears his eyes away from Jeno's arms when he catches Renjun's eyes. The pixy has been giving him increasingly knowing glances, and Dejun doesn't want to dwell on it.

He's seen the relationships in the house. And, obviously, Renjun doesn't care that Dejun has a thing for his boyfriend. But Dejun doesn't have the mental capacity to deal with any of it, not right now, so he does the logical thing and shoves every knowledge of it to the back of his head. 

In the safety of their shared room, Dejun throws himself down on his bed, buries his face in his hands, and groans. Kunhang openly laughs at his distress, but Yangyang makes a sound of confusion.

"Dejun? Are you alright?" Yangyang asks.

"His crush is killing him," Kunhang mock whispers.

Yangyang gasps. "You have a crush? On who?"

"Like it's not the most obvious thing in the world."

"It clearly isn't, since I don't know about it."

"You're just blind to other people's feelings, Yangie."

"Hey!"

"Enough," Dejun groans. He hasn't moved from his spot. 

The bed frame creaks, then Kunhang lies down on top of Dejun. Kunhang nuzzles Dejun's nape with his nose and says, much more compassionate than earlier, "Tell us about your crush, babe."

Dejun elbows him off of him. "There's nothing to tell."

"Are you sure?" Kunhang sings. "Nothing about his smile, or how nice he is, nothing like that?"

"I am never sharing anything with you ever again."

"Aw, not even Yangie?"

"No, not even. I'm taking him with me."

Kunhang snorts. Dejun lifts his head and scans the room, but Yangyang is nowhere to be found. His towel is missing, too, so he must have gone to shower. 

"See what you did? You scared Yangyang," Dejun accuses. "This is what happens when you decide to be annoying."

"I won't bug you about your crush," Kunhang sighs, "For now."

"That doesn't help," Dejun says. 

Kunhang smiles. If Dejun weren't so drained from studying all day, he would kiss him. 

"Let's go get dressed," Kunhang says. "I'm really craving some sushi now."

_**~~~** _

Dejun enjoys going out with the younger kids in the house. He gets along perfectly with everyone — minus Jungwoo, maybe, but that has nothing to do with who Jungwoo is as a person, and more to do with his status as an incubus, — but it's easier when he's surrounded by people closer to his human age. 

(If Dejun thinks about it, he's older than everyone in the house put together. Which is exactly why he doesn't think about it.)

"Could someone, for the love of all that is good in the world, pass me the stupid soy sauce?" Donghyuck bites out. 

Jeno laughs at him, passing the bottle of sauce to the witch. Donghyuck thanks him with an exasperated eye roll.

"It was right there," Jaemin cackles. 

"It's not my fault I can't move my arms."

Dejun can't help but laugh at Donghyuck's disgruntled expression. He resembles a little puppy, even more so than Yukhei at times. 

"He's laughing at me!" Donghyuck whines. It only makes Dejun laugh harder, Jeno and Jaemin joining in. 

Jisung examines the sashimi held between his chopsticks. "If someone had told me that one day I would be eating sushi…"

"I think it could be considered cannibalism," Chenle says.

"Really?" Jisung asks. Dejun doesn't think he sounds very concerned. "How?"

"Oh, boy," Jeno murmurs. 

Chenle's eyes light up, almost bouncing in excitement. Dejun resigns himself to a night of Chenle explaining the mechanisms of mermen cannibalism, but his attention wanders to the rest of their companions once Chenle gets fired up. 

"It's too bad Xuxi and Jungwoo hyung couldn't join us," Renjun says. He's sitting on the other end of the table, sandwiched between Mark and Yangyang, his wings pressed uncomfortably against the wall. 

"I'm just glad they're on a date," Mark shrugs, "the pining was getting old."

"I thought they were together?" Kunhang asks. 

Mark rolls his eyes. "Yeah, you'd think so. But apparently Jungwoo hyung is a pussy."

Dejun smiles. He doesn't think he'll ever feel close enough to Jungwoo as to make a comment like that, but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate it when others do.

"You know what we should do?" Donghyuck's exclamation is met with groans. He pouts, crossing his arms and saying, "You guys all suck."

Mark giggles. "What did you have in mind, Hyuck?"

"Dude," Jaemin hisses, "don't fall for it."

"Shush," Donghyuck slaps a hand over Jaemin's mouth, "I was thinking we should go on a road trip."

"Where to?" Mark asks.

Donghyuck shrugs. "Does it matter? We could go to the beach."

"It _has_ been awhile since the last time we did something to give the hyungs a heart attack," Chenle hums. 

"Is that your only life motivation?" Jisung asks. 

Chenle nods decisively, "Yes." Jeno snorts.

"We brought the van, nothing's stopping us from driving down to the beach," Donghyuck insists.

"I don't know, Hyuck," Renjun bites his lip. "We have finals coming up…"

"Exactly!" Donghyuck beams. "We could all use a distraction."

Dejun isn't so sure, either. They only started studying today, and he would hate to disappoint Kun on the very second day. Besides, none of them brought extra cash, or clothes, or even swimwear. 

But then he looks at Yangyang's excited grin as he cajoles Kunhang into saying yes, and Jeno's already convinced Renjun, and Dejun doesn't want to be the only one to say no.

Donghyuck clearly is the most excited about it, pushing Jaemin to the front desk so they can pay for their dinner and _hit the road,_ as he put it. 

Things become all that much harder for Dejun when, while they climb into the van, Renjun says, too loud to be normal, "I think I'll pass up on the window seat this time. Jeno, why don't you take it?"

Jeno's too nice to deny his boyfriend. He simply slides across the seats to the other side, leather jacket sliding off his shoulders. Dejun looks away as if burnt.

Dejun waits for Renjun to follow his boyfriend, but the pixy exclaims, "Oh, no, I changed my mind. Dejun, you don't mind taking the middle seat, right? Great! Go on, get in."

Dejun sees where Renjun is going with this and he doesn't like it. Renjun smiles innocently, blinking and everything, and Dejun can't deny him without making a scene. So, Dejun slides in after Jeno, making sure there are at least three fingers of space between them. 

Renjun follows suit. At first, Dejun feels relieved — just the three of them on the row, there's plenty of room for them not to touch, even with Renjun's wings inside the car.

Until Jisung takes up the remaining space, squeezing in next to Renjun against the door. Dejun suddenly finds himself pressed against Jeno, thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder. 

The only reason Dejun doesn't dissolve into a pile of dust — or throws Renjun out the window — is that Donghyuck plugs the AUX cord into his phone and blasts some bubblegum pop song at full volume. 

Donghyuck flirts with the speed limit while he drives. Mark tells him to slow down a few times, but Donghyuck pays no attention to him. 

"There's no fun in slowing down," Donghyuck shouts over the music, "Besides! I want to get there before sunrise!"

Dejun tries to avoid thinking about Jeno's bare arm pressing against his, or about his hand on his knee, edging on his thigh. Or Renjun's hand on his other knee. Kunhang, sitting on the front row, turns around to say something, sees their hands and Dejun's panicked expression, and grins in amusement. 

"I was gonna make sure you guys were comfortable," Kunhang drawls, "But I see that you are."

"It's fine," Dejun bites out. 

Kunhang smiles for a second more, wiggling his eyebrows, and turns back to sit properly again. Dejun sighs through his nose and resigns himself to a car ride of torture. Renjun snickers quietly. 

Sometime between Donghyuck lowering the volume on the music because Jaemin complained it hurt his ears, and passing through the tollgate out of the city, Chenle suggests they roll the windows down. He's sitting in the trunk — Johnny _did_ buy the van for its storage space, considering Chenle can't sit just anywhere — and he complains he's starting to feel a bit claustrophobic. 

The night air does wonders for all of them, but especially Dejun, who feels suffocated. 

Dejun takes the opportunity to stare out the window, at the stars twinkling on the dark sky. It's a lovely night, and the further they get from the city, the brighter the sky turns. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with fresh air, and exhales. 

His inner peace ends rather abruptly.

"Do you think we'll have enough money to rent a room at an inn or something?" Renjun leans over Dejun, speaking to Jeno. "We'll need to get some rest before going back."

Jeno hums. His hand tightens on Dejun's thigh. "Sure. Wanna join us, Dejun?"

Dejun glances between the two. Beyond Renjun, Jisung is conked out and snoring, his head lolled back. The guys on the front row don't seem to be hearing their conversation, and Chenle's too busy sticking his head out the window. Dejun gulps, thinking hard before he can answer.

"Uh, for a nap?" He asks. 

His only answer is a chuckle from Renjun. Jeno's hold loosens, but Renjun's hand only climbs higher. 

"Sure," Renjun parrots. 

Dejun stutters, unsure of how to answer. He wants to say yes, of course he'll join them, that's a no-brainer. Every cell in his body begs him to lean into their touch. 

But he's never been with either of them. He's only ever kissed Yangyang and Kunhang before, and he doesn't know how he feels about kissing two other boys like this.

"I'll think about it," Dejun finally says. He hopes they understand. He hopes that they can read between the lines.

They seem to get it. Renjun returns his hand to Dejun's knee, much more decent than where it was, and Jeno pats his leg before letting go altogether.

"You just let us know," Jeno says.

_**~~~** _

They reach the beach before dawn, just as Donghyuck wanted. 

Donghyuck, Jaemin, and Renjun race each other to the shore, where Jaemin grabs hold of Renjun's waist and doesn't let go until they're knee-deep in water. Renjun's shouts of indignation and joy are loud enough to be heard from the car.

Donghyuck parked at the edge of the beach, fifty meters from the shore. Jeno and Mark follow their boyfriends, and Jisung is practically bouncing with every step while he runs toward the water. Chenle's the only one that lingers with the angels, looking at them curiously when neither makes a move to even touch the sand.

"Are you guys okay?" He asks.

Dejun hears Yangyang inhale sharply. "Yeah. It's just…"

"This is our first time," Kunhang explains, "coming to the beach."

"Or even seeing the beach," Dejun adds.

Chenle's eyes widen. Suddenly, he grins excitedly, and he grabs Kunhang's wrist as he says, "Well, c'mon!"

Kunhang doesn't have a choice but to go along. Dejun looks at Yangyang, at the misty expression in his eyes as he stares at the ocean, and offers his hand.

"Should we go?" Dejun asks.

The closer they get to the beach, the quicker they walk. They do as the others did and shed some of their clothing, particularly their shirts, shoes and socks. Their phones land on their folded clothes, their wallets close behind, and then they're racing each other to the water.

Dejun can't decide what's the best part: to feel the ocean waves crash against him for the first time, or to see the elation in his partners' faces as they experience the same thing. Chenle's soaked fairy wings are a close runner up, as well as Jisung's blue scales going in and out of sight.

Some swim further in, like Donghyuck and Mark, while others simply allow the water to drift them away. Dejun has half a mind on Chenle, who's floating without a care in the world, but he doesn't focus on that for long.

He's never learnt how to swim, so Dejun makes sure he can always touch the sand as the waves sway him side to side. Even that is an otherworldly experience; he can touch shells, seaweed, and the little grains of sand rub his skin in a not-so-unpleasant way. 

Yangyang kicks his feet until he's nose to nose with Dejun. His hair is soaked and plastered to his forehead, and Jaemin is holding his hand as he guides him to Dejun. 

"Hey," Yangyang greets, "Look! I'm swimming!"

"I can see that," Dejun laughs. 

"He's a natural," Jaemin says, smiling at Yangyang's concentrated pout, "I could even let go, right now."

Yangyang startles, tightening his grip on Jaemin's hand. "Don't you dare," he hisses. 

"How did everyone learn how to swim?" Dejun asks. 

"Yuta and Hansol hyungs taught me," Jaemin says, "although dogs are supposed to be natural swimmers."

"Were you?" Yangyang peers at him. 

Jaemin hums. "Kind of. Need a hand?" He asks Dejun, noticing he's having a hard time staying afloat. Now gripping Dejun's hand as well as Yangyang's, he helps them inch deeper into the water.

"What about the others?" Dejun asks.

"I think Jaehyun hyung taught Mark and Hyuck before they moved in, and Jisung taught Jeno after the hyungs got him the pool."

"He seems to be good at teaching," Yangyang comments, nodding toward where Jisung is guiding Kunhang to kick his feet. 

"Hmm," Jaemin hums. "Renjun… I think he learned as a kid? And Chenle, too."

Yangyang splutters, slips, and clings to Jaemin's neck with wide eyes. Jaemin cackles, although Dejun sees him run his free hand down Yangyang's side in a soothing manner. 

"Don't worry," Jaemin tells him, "You're fine, I'm not letting you drown." Yangyang's answer is lost in a grumble.

They swim until the sun rises and their fingers have turned to prunes. It's then that Mark drags everyone out of the water, going as far as to take Jisung by the ear. Jaemin has to carry him to the sand, since his tail won't go away until he's dry.

"This is nice," Renjun comments. Dejun nods; somehow, he doesn't feel as nervous as he did earlier. "Hey. I'm sorry if we scared you, back in the car."

"We really didn't mean to come on too strong," Jeno adds. 

They're sitting apart from the rest, though not by much. Kunhang glances at him, perhaps noticing the seriousness in Renjun and Jeno's expressions, and he offers Dejun an encouraging thumbs up.

"You didn't scare me," Dejun says. "I'm just… I'm not used to this. I know we've been at the house for a while, and that this kind of thing isn't weird for you, but I'm still getting my head wrapped around the fact that I'm in love with my two best friends."

"We get it," Jeno assures him. "It wasn't a walk in the park for us, either."

"What do you mean?" Dejun frowns.

Jeno cocks his head to the side. "Haven't you noticed Renjun literally won't stop touching Jaemin?"

Dejun gapes. Jeno laughs, nodding. 

Well. Dejun wasn't expecting that. He turns to look at Renjun, takes in his flushed expression, and gasps.

"You two…?" 

"Yeah," Renjun confirms. "I mean, we dated years ago, and recently — you know," he trails off. 

Dejun giggles at Renjun's flustered expression. "I know," he nods. "I mean, I didn't even notice, but."

"Our point is," Jeno says, regaining his attention, and saving his boyfriend from further embarrassment, "we get it. You need time to figure things out. We're just happy with you knowing that we like you. _I_ like you," he emphasises.

Dejun's mouth turn dry. Jeno's earnest eyes seem to bore into his and Dejun doesn't know where to look. He settles for staring at his sandy toes.

"I," Dejun clears his throat, "I'll talk to them. I like you," he confesses, although he knows they know, "but I need some time to figure things out."

"Take all the time you need," Renjun tells him.

_**~~~** _

They don't return to the house just yet. Renjun was right — they need to take a nap, especially Donghyuck if he's going to drive them back.

After driving down the road for a while, Mark spots an inn with a vacancy sign. The three angels share a room, right next door to Donghyuck, Jaemin, Renjun and Mark. Jeno decides to room with the two youngest, mostly because they let him curl up in cat form on their chests while the others don't.

Dejun hangs his wet clothes on the rack in the bathroom and, dressed only in a pair of underwear they bought at the inn's gift shop, collapses face first on the sheets.

"That was fun," Kunhang says, drying his hair with a towel. Dejun didn't even bother doing that. "I'm glad we let Donghyuck talk us into it."

"Hyuck's ideas are rarely boring," Yangyang snorts. "Stupid, dangerous, ridiculous? Yes. But never boring."

Dejun feels the bed dip, and opens his eyes to see Yangyang settling on his side. Dejun shuffles closer, hoping for some cuddles, but Yangyang not so subtly moves away.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Dejun asks.

"I'm fine," Yangyang grumbles.

Dejun sits up. "It doesn't seem like it."

"Look, I'm just not in the mood."

"To cuddle?"

"If you want to cuddle so much, why don't you ask Jeno and Renjun?"

What?

"What?"

Yangyang huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. "I overheard the three of you, at the beach."

"Then you heard me shooting them down," Dejun raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah, after you confessed to them!" Yangyang stares at him. 

Dejun shuffles around, keeping his distance because he thinks Yangyang won't be happy if he tries to approach now.

"Yangyang," Dejun says slowly, "I love you. It doesn't matter if I like Jeno, if you're not comfortable, then I won't do anything."

"I don't want to be the reason for your unhappiness," Yangyang sniffs. Dejun wasn't prepared to deal with a crying Yangyang.

"You, and Kunhang, are the reason for my happiness. Nothing else matters to me."

Kunhang crawls up the bed and sits with them, smiling shyly. Dejun takes both their hands, giving Yangyang what he hopes is his most convincing look. 

"The last thing I want," Dejun says, "is to hurt you."

Yangyang wipes his eyes with his sleeve, avoiding eye contact with them. "It's just… the others all seem so happy, with their open relationship or however they call it. I wish I could do that, for you, but —"

"We're not them," Kunhang reminds him kindly. "We've been on Earth for, what? Two years? You can't rush yourself. They've had years to grow accustomed to it, to work out their issues. If you're not ready, then you're not ready."

"What if I'm never ready?" Yangyang whispers.

"Then, that's that," Dejun shrugs. "I'm happy with the two of you, no ifs or buts."

Yangyang examines him for several heartbeats. Kunhang squeezes their hands in support, something Dejun appreciates through the nerves thrumming in his veins. 

Dejun never meant for Yangyang to feel displaced, nor unwanted. Seeing Yangyang's hurt so openly on his face makes him want to hurl.

Finally, Yangyang nods. Dejun can still feel his uncertainty, and he wishes he could make it go away. 

"Alright," Yangyang murmurs. "Thank you."

"And," Dejun cuts in, "the next time something's bothering you, please tell us. That's what the guys are always saying, right? Communication."

Yangyang nods once more, giving him a tight-lipped smile. Kunhang bounces where he's sitting, and says, "Are we cool now? Do we cuddle it out?"

"I guess we can cuddle," Yangyang bats his eyelashes. Dejun giggles, causing the other two to do so, as well. 

Later, right as Dejun is about to fall asleep, Yangyang murmurs, "For the record, I think you and Jeno would look good together."

"Ditto," Kunhang agrees. "They're both hot. Hot people go together."

Dejun kicks him off the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're at the end of the line ;;; two more chapters and tfoi is done ;; i'm really excited for y'all to read what really happened to the angels that made them lose their holiness though!!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeno makes eye contact with Dejun across the table. Donghyuck’s threatening to hex Jaemin to hell and back, much to Jaemin’s delight, who keeps taunting him, and Yangyang’s complaining that half his ass is hanging off the booth. Jeno grins at Dejun, and Dejun can’t help but grin right back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hihi! here's the second to last chapter ( ；∀；)

Noon rolls around sooner than Dejun expected, or wanted. He wakes up to Kunhang’s phone’s alarm blaring – Chenle thought it was hilarious to set everyone’s alarms to something called the apocalypse bell, and poor Kunhang hasn’t figured out how to change it back – and to Yangyang snoring up a storm in his ear. 

A usual morning, or noon, all in all. Dejun rubs his eyes, groaning, and pushes Kunhang away. He might still be dreaming, but he thinks he hears Jisung and Chenle yelling in the next room. Then again, that wouldn’t be so out of the ordinary. They don’t share a wall in the house, and Dejun can still hear them on a good day.

Gentle sunlight dowses half of the motel’s room, while the other half remains in the dark. Dejun doesn’t want to move, too comfortable under the covers to even consider moving.

“What time is it?” Dejun asks groggily. 

Yangyang moans into a pillow. “Someone, please, make that thing stop.”

Kunhang crawls out of the blankets first. He has to leave the bed and fish around their belongings for his phone, but he eventually finds it buried beneath a fallen throw pillow. He turns the alarm off and all is peaceful again. Dejun sighs, closing his eyes once more – maybe he can get some shut eye before they leave.

“Wake up!” Donghyuck shouts from outside, banging on the door to their room. “We gotta go, Taeyong’s losing his shit.”

“No,” Yangyang moans again. “I need sleep.”

“You can sleep in the car,” Donghyuck adds. There’s no way he heard what Yangyang said, but Donghyuck has a weird sixth sense, and he always seems to know the right thing to say. “Come on, we leave in ten. I’m not above leaving you behind!”

“We’re coming!” Yangyang shouts back. Donghyuck’s cackles fade off as he apparently disappears back into his own room.

Kunhang pulls on his jeans and t-shirt, and then throws their clothes on the bed, Yangyang’s pants hitting Dejun on the face. “Put these on.”

Yangyang sits up, blindly grabs the pants and redresses. Dejun does the same, half-asleep and feeling like a truck ran him over the night before – but he’s happy, too. Yesterday was obviously good for their spirits, because Dejun hasn’t felt this rested in a long time.

“Do you think we’ll have time to stop somewhere to get coffee?” Yangyang asks no one in particular.

“If you give Jaemin puppy eyes, I’m sure he’ll stop to murder someone for you,” Kunhang snorts. 

“What are you talking about?”

Kunhang raises an amused eyebrow. “What? You think Dejun’s the only one capturing hearts left and right around here?” 

~

They’re on the road soon enough. 

Kunhang nods off in his seat, head lolled to the side to rest on Yangyang’s shoulder, and Dejun sits to his left. The three chose to sit on the same row, while Jisung joined Chenle in the trunk – mostly, because Donghyuck complained he couldn’t see anything past Chenle’s wings, so Jisung holds them as gently as he can in his hands. On the front row, sit Jeno, Jaemin and Renjun, and yeah, Dejun can see it now.

It’s subtle, but Dejun can see how Jaemin links his arms with Renjun. It doesn’t appear as if he has anything beyond platonic with Jeno, though. Jeno’s snoring with his head against the window, and Renjun’s glittery wings flutter gently when Jaemin leans in to say something to him.

“There’s a diner ahead,” Donghyuck calls out over his shoulder. “Who’s hungry?”

A sleepy chorus of agreement and cheers. Mark laughs softly and says, “I think everyone’s hungry.”

Donghyuck pulls into the parking lot with ease. For whatever reason, Dejun didn’t use to believe Donghyuck to be a good driver – be it because of how generally disastrous he is, or because Donghyuck’s up to no good grin is constantly on his face – so when he needed someone to drive him to the grocery store and Donghyuck was the only one available, he wasn’t so hot on the idea.

Nevertheless, he asked him for that favour, because Dejun really needed that ride. As it turned out, Donghyuck was an excellent driver, cautious, and Dejun found out he got along very well with him, too. Donghyuck could be loud most of the time, and he had a penchant for terrorising everyone at the house, but he was sweet, and he knew how not to overwhelm the quieter ones.

Dejun learned that day that, as much as Donghyuck could be the life of the party, he could also be quiet, calm. It was a nice change of pace, one that Dejun appreciated greatly. In spite of everything, Dejun couldn’t keep up with some of them at times, so he liked it when he could hang out with some of the more introverted guys. 

They pile out of the car, some a bit more composed than the others are. Jeno’s eyes remain closed for the most part, Renjun’s hand on his waist guiding him to the table, and Kunhang more or less stumbles his way through the crowd as he follows them.

“Has anyone else’s phone been going off with a thousand messages per second from the hyungs?” Chenle asks. Jisung, squeezed next to him on the booth, appears a little awkward as he tries to sit without pressing Chenle’s feathers into the cushion.

“I learned a long time ago not to scare Jaehyun again,” Donghyuck tells him. “So I texted him we wouldn’t be home in time for the horror special from last night.”

“The horror special?” Jeno asks.

“A horror movie marathon on TV,” Mark explains offhandedly. “It usually starts at 10.”

“Ten texted me that he wouldn’t cry if they found me dead in a ditch,” Renjun pipes up.

Chenle pouts, annoyed. “Am I the only one they keep babying?”

“Taeyong hyung asked me if I wanted a new skateboard,” Jisung smiles. Chenle shoves his face away.

“Xuxi asked if we planned on getting home anytime soon,” Chenle continues. “He said Kun and Taeyong are upset we left without telling anyone again.”

“Ugh, too close, move,” Donghyuck groans, trying his best to shove Jeno to the side. It doesn’t work, because the booth is small, even with Renjun sitting on Mark’s lap and Dejun halfway on Kunhang’s. “I am not sitting on Jaemin’s lap.”

Donghyuck has to sit on Jaemin’s lap. Jaemin cackles, far too amused for Donghyuck’s taste, and the waitress seems terrified when she comes to their table to get their orders. They eat the best they can – Renjun’s wings are in the way for Mark, but the pixy helps by passing him everything he can’t reach, and Jisung helps Donghyuck after he refuses to allow Jaemin to feed him.

Jeno makes eye contact with Dejun across the table. Donghyuck’s threatening to hex Jaemin to hell and back, much to Jaemin’s delight, who keeps taunting him, and Yangyang’s complaining that half his ass is hanging off the booth. Jeno grins at Dejun, and Dejun can’t help but grin right back at him.

~

Two weeks after their impromptu trip, Kun suggests they have a mock test.

“It’s just to see how well you would perform in one,” he explains, grinning, as he paces around the small room. “There are a few things I want to see.”

“Like what?” Yangyang asks. His nerves are visible from a mile away, and Kun squeezes his shoulder reassuringly.

“Your memory, for instance,” Kun shrugs. “Your attention span, how well you work under pressure, which subjects are easier for you. Which ones are harder,” he adds with emphasis. 

“Tests suck,” Chenle tells the room at large, without looking up from his drawing pad. “But I think it’s a good idea.”

“I can help you study,” Jisung offers sweetly. “We’re taking the same exams soon, so it’s time we start studying together.”

“I’ll have a list of topics for you to study by tomorrow,” Kun says. “We’ll have a test for each subject, on different days, so it isn’t as overwhelming for you.”

“That doesn’t sound much better,” Kunhang murmurs, frowning. 

Chenle snorts. “It isn’t. I remember finals – I once spent an entire day with my head in my biology textbook, just studying jellyfish and a bunch of other stuff I can’t remember now.”

“It won’t be like that,” Kun says, louder. “Don’t worry about it. Taeil and Hansol will prepare the tests, and I’ll check them out, just in case. You just worry about revising what you’ve learned with me so far. It’s only been a few days, so you can focus on each topic better.”

“Cool,” Yangyang nods. He’s been scribbling nonsense into his notebook the entire afternoon. “Any tips?”

“We got it,” Jisung and Chenle scramble to cut in before Kun can say anything. “Don’t worry, we’ll help them.”

Kun narrows his eyes. The kids smile, as innocent as possible, and the dragon huffs, a puff of smoke billowing out of his nostrils. “Fine. I’ll leave you guys to it.”

When he leaves, Dejun turns to the two kids with questioning eyebrows. 

“What was that about?” he asks.

Chenle rolls his eyes, closing his notepad. “He could go on and on about study tips and how to make the perfect mental map – I love him, but he could be a little less excited about colour-coded notes.”

“I like colour-coded notes,” Jisung says softly. 

Kunhang grins. “Me, too, they make it easier to concentrate.”

“I like using these sticky notes thingies,” Yangyang says, playing with a stack of multi-coloured sticky notes. 

“Yes, yes, we all have fun studying,” Chenle grumbles. Dejun doesn’t hold it against him, nor does anyone else – Chenle has a hard time concentrating, harder than others do, and his frustration makes him grumpy. “Ugh, can we get out of here? I hate this room.”

They march back upstairs, to Chenle and Jisung’s shared room. Jeno’s napping in cat form on Chenle’s bunk bed, right where the sun creates a comfy, sunny spot. Since he sleeps like the dead, he doesn’t even budge when they trample inside.

The first hour of study passes quickly enough. Dejun reads the history notes from yesterday, then re-writes them when he realises he has to read and reread each sentence to understand what they say, and Yangyang quizzes Jisung on his chemistry notes. Chenle, though he distracts himself playing with Jeno’s fur, sits on his bed and gets through a quarter of his questionnaire before he takes a nap. 

Sometime after the two hour mark, Renjun joins their study session. He carries three large notebooks in his arm, as well as, surprisingly, a Bible. He plops down on the ground next to Jisung, hair all over his face, and huffs.

“I need your help,” he says firmly to the three angels. 

Dejun stops fiddling with the cap of his pen and listens. Renjun doesn’t meet any of their eyes as he arranges and rearranges his books, playing with the frayed edge of a green college-ruled.

“Some of my professors thought it would be interesting to do their finals together,” Renjun explains. “Except they won’t really tell us what we’re going to do. We just know we’re having a debate.”

“Is that allowed?” Yangyang frowns.

Renjun nods, still looking down. “Yeah. The Languages students do it all the time, they’re always putting on plays and shows for multiple classes.”

“So, you don’t know what you need to study?” Kunhang asks. 

“Not exactly,” Renjun says. “We have the syllabus, and all my profs told us the general topics, but not much more. One of them texted me, though – I’ve taken, like, five of his lectures in the past and he’s kinda cool – and he said he could give me a hint.”

“And?” Dejun tilts his head.

“He said he saw my name and Catholicism in the same line,” Renjun shrugs. “Some of my classmates think we’re doing something similar to an UN meeting, so I guess I’ll have to either defend or attack the Catholic church, or maybe the followers, I don’t know.”

Dejun nods, going back to play with his pen. “Okay… so, you want our help to understand it better?”

“Please?” Renjun offers him a small grin.

Yangyang practically beams, scurrying to his side. “Of course we’ll help! Come on, ask us anything.”

“Well,” Renjun damn near stutters, and Dejun can’t hold back his amusement as he watches the pixy sort through his notes. “I’ve always been curious about the whole idea of how angels look. According to an old lecturer of mine, the idea of angels having white fluffy wings and halos comes from Ancient Rome, and not actual Catholicism, but we’ve met guardian angels before, and they had those, so…”

“Ah, I know what you mean,” Kunhang nods. “Our true forms aren’t very pretty, you see, so angels tend to choose a less threatening form when dealing with humans. Not many people would be thrilled to hear that their guardian angel is just three eyes hazardously put together.”

“We did get the idea from a Roman god, though,” Yangyang adds. “That much is true.”

Renjun scribbles everything down on his notebook with surprising speed. His handwriting suffers, however, and Dejun wonders how he can read any of it afterward.

“Okay,” Renjun says slowly. “How do you choose your human form, then?”

“Angels are like demons,” Dejun says. “Some are born angels, others are made after death. All three of us,” he motions to himself, Kunhang, and Yangyang, “were humans before we were angels. This is what we looked like before.”

Renjun raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Like Jungwoo hyung?”

“Yes,” Dejun nods.

“Except we’re older than him,” Yangyang says. “By a long shot. We were angels for millennia before…” he trails off. Renjun doesn’t ask.

“For those that were born as angels, they choose a physique that would evoke good feelings from the human they’re dealing with,” Kunhang says. 

Jeno hops down from Chenle’s bed, lies down on Renjun’s lap, and stretches for a full minute. Renjun’s full attention is on his feline boyfriend, and he doesn’t continue speaking until after Jeno’s settled down and snoring once more. 

As he pets him softly, Renjun asks, “What else can you tell me?”

The angels meet eyes. Yangyang grins, and asks back, “How much time do you have?”

~

There’s a wall full of photographs in the house. 

Dejun first noticed this a week or two after they moved in. It was early morning, barely after sunrise, and Dejun was wandering the halls while half-asleep, looking for Sicheng because Yangyang said he knew how to get to their workplace by bus. 

Although Dejun already knew the house, he was convinced – and still is – that sometimes the halls changed, just to mess with them. More than once, he’s ended up in the same room no matter what turns he takes, and while entertaining during waking hours, it was a pain in the ass when he was asleep.

As he stumbled down the stairs to the first floor, trying his hardest not to trip and fall, he saw the photos. He’d heard of the photos, and he knew some of the others affectionately called it the Wall of Fame, but he hadn’t stopped to look at them. Ten had insisted they took a photo with them the day after they moved in, but even then, Dejun only hung around long enough to see Johnny hang it on a nail before they all went on with their lives. 

That morning, Dejun didn’t stop to look at the photos. He glanced at the few closer to his height, noticed a rather nice one with just Donghyuck, Jeno, Jaemin, and Renjun in front of a snowman, and continued on his way.

One evening, later than Dejun usually stays awake, he sees the photos again. He has a cup of milk in hand – allegedly, warm milk helps you sleep, and Dejun chose to believe Chenle this time – and wearing an oversized t-shirt he’s almost certain belonged to Jaehyun before it inexplicably fell into his hands. The grandfather clock in the entrance hall rings its twelve bells, signalling midnight. 

Dejun stops in front of the Wall of Fame. He looks at the framed photograph they took after their move-in day, smiling at the sight of Kunhang and Jaemin with their arms around each other’s shoulders, and Yangyang’s wide grin as Ten and Kun smothered him in a hug. Dejun stood between Yukhei and Mark, the pup’s large hand wrapped around his waist. 

It’s a nice picture, Dejun thinks. Everyone grinned obnoxiously for the floating camera, and after the little photo-shoot was over, Taeyong and Hansol herded them all back inside the house for a giant meal fit for an army. 

“Junnie? What are you doing down here?” 

Ten floats down the stairs without touching the ground. While he tires if he flies long distances, his wings can carry him from one room to another without issue or, in this case, take him from the second floor to the first floor landing.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dejun explains, lifting his cup. “So, I thought I’d have some warm milk. Chenle said it helps.”

Ten hums and skitters to his side. Dejun sees traces of his face cream in the roots of his hair, which mean he just finished his nightly routine. It’s surprising to see him out of bed, then, because usually he’ll be burrowed under Yuta or Hansol, or under three blankets if they aren’t around.

“You like my Wall of Fame?” Ten teases, draping himself over Dejun’s back. 

“It’s really nice,” Dejun says. “I never realised how many people have come live here with you.”

Ten nods, leaning closer to peer at an old photo of him and Renjun. In it, Renjun’s snaggle tooth is on full display, and Ten’s hair is cropped short, black. 

“We’ve been lucky,” Ten says wistfully. “Have you seen this one? We had some angels stay with us a while back, maybe you know them?”

Dejun squints, following Ten’s finger to a framed photo higher on the wall. In it, six angels pose in front of the house, large wings spread to the sky.

The cup in Dejun’s hand falls to the ground.

Ten startles, glancing at him in alarm. “Dejun? Are you okay, what happened?”

“What’s going on?” comes Yangyang’s voice, followed by Kunhang’s gasp of surprise. “Dejun? Are you alright?”

The milk’s sipping into Dejun’s slippers. Yangyang’s face swims into his line of vision, but Dejun can’t make eye contact. 

“What happened?” Kunhang asks Ten.

“I don’t know!” Ten whimpers. “We were looking at the photos on the wall, and I showed him the one with the angels that stayed with us in the past, and then he just – he dropped the mug!”

Yangyang glances at the photo, too, and his face pales. Dejun hears Ten make a worried noise in the back of his throat, then Doyoung comes downstairs, perhaps alarmed by all the commotion, Kun hot on his heels. 

Faintly, Dejun wonders if Yuta and Hansol are too far away from this hall to hear their husband is upset. 

Doyoung, quick as ever, catches Yangyang before he hits the floor. The youngest angel looks as if he’ll pass out any second now, and Dejun can’t deny he feels the same. Kunhang doesn’t speak, even after Kun snaps his fingers in front of his face in an attempt to get his attention. 

“Ten,” Kun says, firm, shaking Ten out of his upset stupor. “You said you were looking at the photos?”

Ten nods, fast as if he were a bobblehead. 

“What photo, exactly?”

“The one with the guardian an – oh.”

Kun turns back to the three angels, a look of understanding on his face. “You guys knew them?”

Dejun doesn’t answer. Kunhang does it for him, nodding slowly. 

“You want to talk about it?” Doyoung asks, just as quietly. Yangyang’s still in his arms, worse for wear, and Dejun wonders faintly if Yangyang’s legs would be able to hold him if Doyoung were to let go.

When none of them replies, they herd them to the tiny living in the next room. It’s smaller than the one they use regularly, with a couch, a carpet, and a chimney. They sit the angels down on the couch, then Doyoung, Kun, and Ten sit on the carpet. 

“Breathe,” Kun reminds them, a hand on Dejun’s knee.

Minutes pass. Dejun isn’t sure how long it takes before any of them speaks. His head is swimming with the odds of this happening – this is fate, he knows, but it’s unbelievably all the same. 

He hasn’t seen those six angels in years. They weren’t there when they were banished from Heaven, nor were they there when Yangyang was punished for his crimes. The last time he saw any of them, they were at a meeting to discuss the plan for the new millennium. Dejun remembers there was a big argument about who took over this century’s serial killers, but that was it. Nothing memorable about that day at all.

So why did the sight of them make him react like this?

“I think,” Dejun mumbles, “we aren’t as okay with the situation as we thought.”

“What do you mean?” Doyoung asks. 

Dejun exhales, closing his eyes. “Ever since Jaemin started seeing that therapist, we figured we could use some help, too. A day when Kunhang and I walked him to the office, we asked for a reference.”

“We had no idea,” Ten says. “You’ve been going to therapy?”

“Kind of,” Yangyang shrugs. “Mostly I just talk about my day. Getting used to human life and all that.”

“Ever since we started going with her, I guess I fooled myself into thinking I was okay.” Dejun can’t believe he’s having this epiphany out of the consult room. She’s going to have a field day when he tells her about it.

“Seeing the angels… acted as a trigger for you?” Doyoung ventures. The trio shares a helpless glance, then shrug. “That doesn’t mean you’re not okay, or that you’re not doing any progress.”

“It just means you have a trauma,” Kun reassures them. “Trust me, we have a lot of that going around this house. We all know what it’s like to have bad memories, or to have lived something we wish we hadn’t.”

Dejun isn’t sure any of them went through what they did, but he understands where they’re coming from. Especially where Kun is involved, Dejun knows they have nothing but good intentions. 

“Now you know what triggers the bad memories,” Ten says, “It’s like what Jaemin said, you need to know the things that upset you so you can avoid them, or in case that’s not possible, at least you can learn how to work through it.”

“Have you guys been to therapy, too?” Kunhang asks shyly.

Doyoung grins thinly. “I was a psychology student when I was human. I was close to graduating when I was turned – I was even done with my apprenticeship at a psych ward, since I was going for a clinical degree.”

“Jaemin tells me the things he learns in therapy,” Ten pipes up.

“I went to therapy as a kid,” Kun says. “I had problems socialising with other kids in the village, but I stayed because it was fun.”

Yangyang raises an eyebrow. “Fun?”

“For me, yeah,” Kun shrugs. “Sicheng went twice and said it was boring.”

Kunhang snorts. The atmosphere in the living is lighter now, and Dejun is glad for it. They’ve all put a lot of effort into adjusting to their new lives, and Dejun feels relieved it hasn’t been a waste of their time. He’s still telling all this to their therapist, but he feels better after talking to them.

“I think I should get a mop before the ants find the milk,” Dejun smiles. 

Doyoung nods, smiling back. “It’s getting late, we should head to bed.”

“Weren’t you sleeping with your husbands tonight?” Kun asks Ten, getting up from the ground. 

“Nah,” Ten shakes his head. “Yuta’s with Jungwoo, and Hansol’s with Johnny. I was thinking of crashing with you,” he bats his eyelashes. 

Dejun doesn’t see it, out of the room already, but he knows Kun’s smiling goofily, even if Ten squeaks indignantly as Kun undoubtedly pushes his face away. 

When Dejun finally goes to bed, after mopping up the spilled milk and throwing away the shards of broken glass on the floor, Yangyang burrows under his arm and asks, muffled against Dejun’s shirt, “Do you think we should tell them?”

“Tell them what?” Kunhang asks back.

Recently, they moved the bunk bed and the single bed to a spare room in the basement and replaced them with a queen sized bed where they can all sleep together, at Sicheng’s suggestion. It works better than any other arrangement they tried in the past – there is, honestly, no way for the three of them to fit into a twin sized bed. No comfortable way, at least.

“Tell them about what happened,” Yangyang elaborates. “Why we fell.”

“Do you think you’re ready for that?” Dejun asks him. 

“I don’t know if I’m ready, but I know I want them to know. We know a lot about their pasts, I think it’s time we share something, too.”

Kunhang crawls under the covers, wiggling until he’s wrapped comfortably around Yangyang’s body. 

“Are you sure?” Kunhang frowns. “I don’t want you to tell them because you feel like you have to do it.”

“That’s not why,” Yangyang reassures him. “I mean, I started thinking about it because of it, but ultimately I decided because I want to.”

“Alright, then,” Dejun nods, smiling at Yangyang. “We’ll tell them soon, yeah?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Kunhang nods. 

“Great,” Yangyang grins. “Good night, guys.”

“We love you,” Kunhang sings playfully. Yangyang elbows him in the ribs in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sad and procrastinating this fic bc i don't want it to be over ｡:ﾟ(;´∩`;)ﾟ:｡
> 
> is there any supernatural creature you can see sungchan and shotaro as? oomf said sungchan as a dog shapeshifter or a werewolf because he barked, what about shotaro? 
> 
> and! is there anything you would like so see during the final chapter? a ship, a character, a dynamic...? anything goes!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Does it hurt?"
> 
> "Hmm? Does what hurt?"
> 
> "Your scars."
> 
> Yangyang blinks his eyes open and peers at Donghyuck, though the witch's eyes are trained somewhere on Yangyang's neck.
> 
> "Oh." Yangyang considers it before he replies, tracing circles over Donghyuck's shirt. "They used to hurt a lot, when we first fell, but not anymore."
> 
> "I'm sorry," Donghyuck whispers.
> 
> Yangyang chews his bottom lip. "You wanna see them?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️🅰️ here it is,,, the final chapter. after two years, these series of supernatural nct have come to an end ;; i am not very good with words (ironic huh) but know that i am SO grateful to each and every single one of you that has given these fics a chance, to everyone that supported them since i posted see saw or that started them when i posted the first chapter of the fall of icarus, regardless of when you clicked on these fics, you mean the world to me, thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart

“Worst. Day. Ever.”

Yangyang smiles thinly at Jisung’s dramatics. He would be more amused if his brain weren’t fried. Jisung drags his feet to the living room, collapsing on the couch with a groan. Kunhang flops on top of him, and it is a testament to their exhaustion that Jisung doesn’t make a peep to complain.

Jeno and Renjun peek around the corner, looking far too mischievous for Yangyang’s comfort. They smile identical grins, as if Siamese cats, and they approach their small group giddily.

“How was the exam?” Renjun asks them.

Yangyang drops on the recliner, kicks his socked feet up on the table, and closes his eyes.

“It was brutal,” Dejun informs them with a grimace. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so mentally drained.”

“I cannot tell you how tempted I felt to just skip every geometry question,” Kunhang says, muffled in the fabric of Jisung’s hoodie.

Jeno snorts, crouching by the couch. He pokes Jisung’s cheek repeatedly, going as far as to shift his hand into a kitten paw to knead Jisung better. Jisung doesn’t bother to bat him away, maybe because he’s simply too tired.

“You didn’t, though, right?” Renjun asks Kunhang.

“No. I answered everything. Unfortunately.”

“I’m proud of you, guys,” Jeno grins. “Seriously. I know it wasn’t easy.”

Yangyang hums his gratitude. Renjun glances at him, grinning once more, and the next thing he knows, Renjun’s climbing onto the recliner with him. It’s an action so eerily similar to Ten, Yangyang doesn’t have time to complain about the fact he’s using him as a glorified pillow.

“We should have a party,” Renjun announces. Trust him to find an excuse to throw a party – yet another likelihood he has to Ten.

“What’s there to celebrate?” Kunhang snorts.

Renjun gapes at him. “You’re going to college! In January! That’s in, what, less than three months? That’s huge, Hang.”

“You don’t know that,” Dejun points out, but Renjun waves him off absentmindedly.

“Trust me, you got in, Kun’s an excellent teacher.”

Yangyang doesn’t doubt that. Kun made sure they were ready for that exam, and Yangyang is confident in that much. What worries him, and what he guesses worries the others, is how nervous he was, sitting in that large classroom.

“So?” Renjun asks, his wings fluttering so badly he hits Yangyang in the face. Yangyang sputters, batting away the glittery appendixes with a hand. “Can we throw a party?”

Jeno smiles at him from the ground, endeared. Renjun’s excitement is contagious, though, because Kunhang’s grinning too.

“Nothing too big,” Dejun warns him, but it falls on deaf ears. Renjun levitates off Yangyang, his wings fluttering so quickly they’re nearly invisible. He babbles on and on about planning, and he disappears upstairs, perhaps looking for Ten to help him set everything up.

“I don’t think he heard you,” Jisung says to Dejun.

~

Three days later, Yangyang dresses up in his nicest clothes – a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. He even combs his hair for the occasion, splashing cologne on his neck.

“Don’t you think Renjun was a little too excited about this?” Kunhang asks, buttoning up the last two buttons on his shirt. He seems to think better of it, unbuttoning them again, exposing his collarbones.

Yangyang snorts. “I don’t think this party is about us.”

“What else could it be?”

“An excuse, for him and Ten to play dress up with their boyfriends and decorate the house with as many string lights and party poppers as they can get their hands on.”

“That… does sound like them, actually.”

Dejun elbows Kunhang out of the way, standing in his place in front of the mirror. He’s dressed in the black turtle neck Yukhei bought him for his birthday, the one that makes Yangyang feel hot under the collar. He smells of soap and that fancy perfume Sicheng snuck into their dresser.

“You look nervous,” Yangyang says. Dejun hums, playing with his hair for a full minute until Yangyang grabs his wrist gently and brings it back down. “Why are you so nervous?”

“I don’t know,” Dejun confesses. “I mean, you saw Jisung earlier, he’s completely fine. So are you. I don’t know why I feel so weird.”

“Maybe it’s the nerves while waiting for the results,” Kunhang says. “They said we’d get them back within a week or two.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Kunhang hums, peering at his reflection over their shoulders. Yangyang feels underdressed next to them, but a bigger part of him doesn’t have a problem with it. They look good – the three of them, standing next to each other. Dejun fixes Kunhang’s cuff sleeves with a huff, muttering something about children, and Kunhang grins at him adoringly.

It’s exactly as it’s supposed to be, in Yangyang’s opinion.

Just before they leave their room, Yangyang halts in his steps and announces, “I want to tell them. Tonight.”

“Tell them?” Dejun echoes.

“Yeah. About why we fell, the full story.”

Dejun sighs. “That was the bad feeling, then. I knew something was off.”

“Why do you want to tell them now?” Kunhang inquires.

“I don’t know,” Yangyang shrugs, his face burning under their attention. “It’s just – this is the first time we’re all going to be home at the same time in a while, and we’re celebrating that we’re going to university, and it just… it feels right, you know?”

Truth be told, Yangyang hadn’t brought up the subject again because he was afraid. He knew, deep down, that he couldn’t tell anyone about their crimes, because it would mean they were done – completely assimilated to human life, to mortality.

It scared him, for the longest time. Two years on Earth aren’t enough to erase millennia on Heaven, as an angel, a warrior of God, or so he told himself. Now, standing here, with his two favourite people in all the universe, in their room in a house that’s been more of home than Heaven ever was, about to go downstairs and celebrate their official entry to human civilization – he knows he isn’t an angel anymore.

They’re humans. Fallen angels, sure, but humans. And those people outside their door are their family, and they deserve to hear the truth.

“Alright,” Kunhang nods, reassuringly. “Alright, yeah. Do you want our help, or do you think you can handle it?”

“I can tell it,” Yangyang says, pressing his lips together. “Just… stay close, yeah? I mean, I don’t think they’ll freak out or anything, but –”

“We’ll be there,” Dejun says, “Every second of it.”

Yangyang takes a deep breath to steel his nerves. Surprisingly enough, his heartbeat remains steady, and his hand doesn’t falter as he reaches for the doorknob.

~

Jaemin greets them downstairs with a wide grin and a drink in hand. Yangyang can’t help but smile back, accepting the glass with ease.

“Congratulations on joining us in academic hell,” Jaemin says. “I hope you get into my college so I can at least have someone to bother during free hours.”

“I’m pretty sure he applied for mine,” Renjun interrupts him, shoving his way between them. “But nice try.”

Jaemin pouts, whines something about Renjun not being any fun, and Renjun pushes him away with a laugh. Yangyang laughs along with him, because it’s kind of hard not to – Jaemin is too dramatic for his own good, sometimes, but most of the time it’s entertaining.

“Well, at least my boyfriend goes to my college, unlike yours,” Jaemin sneers, sticking his tongue out.

Renjun rolls his eyes. “Please, Jisung only applied to go there because he wants to study marine biology, so get off your high horse.”

They continue to bicker for a while, with Yangyang offering his input every now and then; mostly, he makes jabs at Jaemin’s too large ego, but he throws a few quips here and there at Renjun, too, just to be fair.

On one of the couches, an already inebriated Sicheng drags Dejun down to the cushions with him, puckering his lips for a smooch he doesn’t receive. Dejun, red-faced, pushes him away, silently begging Kun to save him. Kun laughs, watching from the recliner.

Everyone else is in the living room already. As Yangyang said to the others before, this is the first time in a long time they’ve all been here together – between jobs, classes, and their personal lives, it seems like the house is half-full, tops, on a good day.

Yangyang feels almost overwhelmed by the noise, in fact. Chenle and Yukhei are laughing loudly in a corner, their faces flushed with alcohol, and Jeno, Donghyuck and Jisung are chasing each other around the bottom floor while screaming about one thing or another – really, Yangyang stopped asking around the second week they were here.

Taeyong floats by with a tray balanced carefully in his hand. “Care for some… quiche?” he asks. He doesn’t sound very sure that’s what he’s offering them.

“What’s quiche?” Yangyang asks back, peering at the snack.

“Some cheese thing, Jaehyun insists it’s good.”

“That’s because it is! “Jaehyun shouts back, mouth full of quiche.

Yangyang takes one. It does taste good, and he says so to Taeyong, who grins in delight.

“So,” Jaemin says conversationally, “Wanna tell me what’s got your panties in a twist?”

“What?”

“Yangie, Yangie,” Jaemin tsks, “You look like you’re going to poop your pants. What’s up?”

Through a mouthful of quiche, Yangyang says, “It’s nothing, I just…”

“Yeah?” Renjun prompts him.

“I plan on telling you guys,” Yangyang sighs, speaking quietly, “About why we fell.”

Jaemin and Renjun remain silent. Renjun’s hand freezes halfway to his mouth, holding his drink.

“Oh,” Jaemin whispers. “What made you decide that?”

“I just think it’s time,” Yangyang tells him. “It’s been over two years, we’ve been here for almost a year and a half. I want to tell you.”

“That’s,” Renjun nods, “That’s good. Really, it is.”

Yangyang appreciates the support. God knows he’ll need it, considering how every second that ticks by makes Yangyang rethink the decision, over and over again.

Somewhere in the house, Doyoung screams, followed by Ten’s shouts of glee. Taeyong looks up at the ceiling, as if searching for the source of the commotion, until Johnny drags him down to the loveseat and his attention falls elsewhere.

“Do you want to do it after dinner?” Jaemin asks. “I heard Taeil say he and Yuta ordered sushi delivery.”

“Before, actually,” Yangyang says. “I mean, now. Before I lose the nerve. Could you… get everyone’s attention, please?”

Jaemin doesn’t need to hear that twice. He’s quick to gather everyone on the numerous seats around the living room, shushing their complaints and questions. Renjun winks at Yangyang and saunters over to the beanbags, plopping down next to Jeno.

“What’s with you?” Hansol asks Jaemin, half-protesting at Jaemin’s less than gentle manhandling.

“I have something I need to tell you,” Yangyang says to the room at large. “I think it’s a long time coming.”

The last of the stragglers trickle in: Jisung, dragging Donghyuck by the wrist, and Doyoung and Ten, covered in a faint layer of dust.

“Attic?” Kun asks. Doyoung grunts in response.

“What did you want to tell us?” Taeil asks Yangyang.

Dejun and Kunhang abandon their seats to stand with him. Yangyang takes a deep breath, gathering his nerves, and he says, “It’s kind of a long story, so I hope you guys are comfortable.”

They drag three chairs from the kitchen and take front centre. Kunhang silently passes him a drink, which Yangyang gulps down in one go, much to Sicheng’s drunken whoops.

“Winnie,” Jaehyun groans, “Put a lid on it. And stop drinking.”

Sicheng boos him. Jaehyun moves from his seat next to Mark to smother Sicheng, although they end up more or less cuddled on the couch.

“Settle down,” Johnny says to them. “Yangyang said he wanted to talk.”

“Okay, so,” Yangyang stutters, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. “I guess you guys must have wondered why or how we fell.”

Silence. Mark coughs quietly, and Donghyuck elbows him on the ribs.

“It’s been… a while,” Yangyang continues. “And it isn’t something I’m proud of, either, but I want you to know.”

“We’ve discussed this before,” Kunhang adds. “Whether to tell you or not, how much to tell you, when and where.”

“It’s a lot,” Dejun says, “But we hope you guys can have a little patience with us while we work through it.”

“Of course,” Jeno nods, echoed by everyone else.

Yangyang takes a deep breath. “Alright.”

Where does he even begin?

“Back in Heaven, Kunhang and I worked administration most of the time – I think I’ve… told you that before. Sorry,” he laughs nervously. “Um, regardless of what you worked, we all had to do patrol, every once in a while.”

“It was standard,” Dejun says. “I wasn’t the best at it, so I got out of patrol duty by working overtime with the guardians.”

“I thought it was fun,” Yangyang admits. “They never let me wander far from the gates, so when our superiors said I could take a shift down by the rift between realms, I was really excited."

“Heaven isn’t what it used to be,” Kunhang says softly. “The more corrupt Earth becomes, the weaker Heaven gets. Angels were always meant to be soldiers, but the past hundred, two hundred years have been difficult.”

“Hell’s becoming stronger,” Dejun tells them. Jungwoo shifts uncomfortably where he sits, and Yangyang sees Doyoung lay a hand on his knee. “Even before we were thrown out, we had attempted break-ins and attacks every other day.”

Yangyang offers a half grin to the ground, staring at his sneakers. “They gave me armour, something I hadn’t used before. The whole shebang, too – a shield, helmet, and a whip.”

“A whip?” Jaemin blurts out, covering his mouth afterward, cheeks reddened with embarrassment.

“Oh, yeah, a whip,” Yangyang giggles. “It was electric, about two meters long, and so cool. I was supposed to use it in case of an emergency, if anything broke through either of the portals or if I ran into trouble.”

Yangyang exhales.

“I ran into trouble, alright.”

He falters. He isn’t sure how to go about explaining what happened next.

“I just need you all to know that everything that happened that night was my decision,” Yangyang states. “Consensual, in mortal terms. It’s important for me that you guys know that.”

Yangyang doesn’t want to look at any of them to gauge their reactions. Kunhang presses their shoulders together, and Dejun pats his knee lightly.

“Um,” Yangyang says, “I’m sure you’ve heard of the seven sins.”

Donghyuck’s eyes widen, in surprise, maybe.

“They’re not exactly Heaven’s best friends. They didn’t use to be actual people, or demons, actually. Back in the day, they were temptations created by the devil.”

“And then humans became a little too comfortable with them,” Dejun jumps in. “To give them so much power over the human race… it made them real. It turned them into real demons, and not just a vice or a temptation.”

“Yeah, and they’re not just real, they’re powerful,” Kunhang presses. “The most powerful of demons. I mean, it’s not hard science – every human or monster to walk the Earth has felt it. Lust, Pride, Wrath – they’re the strongest.”

“I met Pride that night.”

He was charming, Yangyang thinks to himself.

“Pride has many human names – they all do. They take different forms and faces when they’re on Earth, as all demons do.”

“What name did he use when he met you?” Jungwoo asks.

Yangyang meets his eyes. Jungwoo’s face is blank, his eyes betray nothing, but Yangyang has a feeling he already knows the answer. That he’s just asking to make sure, or maybe just for the sake of it.

“It was…” Yangyang hesitates, and then shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, does it? It doesn’t change anything.”

Jungwoo nods lightly. “Fair point.”

“Anyways, uh, he surprised me. I was a little too far from Heaven’s grounds, but I was on patrol duty, so I didn’t think it mattered. He came out of nowhere, but he didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt me, or anything.”

Not physically. Pride didn’t hurt Yangyang physically, or mentally. He just pushed Yangyang in the direction that benefited Hell the most.

“My whip,” Yangyang licks his lips, “those whips have a sort of life of their own. It hissed at Pride and he hissed back at it. He said it was an old habit.”

Jungwoo raises a single eyebrow. Once more, Yangyang is sure he knows more than he’s letting on.

“We kinda started talking, after that. At first, I was trying to get rid of him, trying to distract him so I could get backup – I thought it was another attempted siege. But he didn’t even seem to care I was an angel or anything like that. He was just making conversation.

“Don’t ask how it happened, I don’t know myself. But we sort of… ended up going back to his?”

Stunned silence. Yangyang spies Donghyuck fighting to control an amused, or surprised, smile off his face, but almost everyone appears simply – shocked. As if they can’t believe what they just heard.

Yangyang coughs to signal he’s done talking, and Dejun takes over for him. His fellow angel clears his throat.

“After that, Yangyang came back to our place – we all lived together on a cloud, and yes, I know how that sounds. Heaven architecture is weird from a mortal’s point of view.”

“He was shaken when he came home,” Kunhang says. “We thought something bad had happened.”

Yangyang shakes his head. It isn’t as if his misadventures with a sin were a good thing, but the actual having sex with a demon part wasn’t bad. Not for him, at least.

“He wouldn’t tell us what was wrong, so we assumed it was bad.” Dejun pauses, grins thinly. “And then we caught him singing to himself the next morning.”

“He never did that.”

“Eventually, he told us everything. I wasn’t very happy about it,” Dejun grumbles, “But there was nothing we could do about it then.”

“More importantly, we had to keep Yangyang safe,” Kunhang sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “The officials could never find out. We all knew what the punishment would be.”

Faintly, Yangyang hears his heart beating in his ears, and feels his heart rate in his fingertips. Kunhang must notice, or maybe he guesses, but he reaches for Yangyang’s hand and gives his fingers a squeeze.

“How did they find out?” Taeyong asks. His voice is barely above a whisper.

Dejun shrugs. “Archangels know everything. Or maybe the sin told them. We don’t know for sure. All we know is that they came to our home one night and dragged us all out of bed.”

“They took us to the Council, a sort of jury – a court room – and it didn’t really take them long to deem him guilty of treason and of committing one of the worst sins imaginable.”

“And then?” Jeno murmurs.

“They were gonna let us go scot free,” Kunhang says, laughing humourlessly. “They thought we didn’t know.”

“You should’ve kept your mouth shut,” Yangyang mutters. “You would still be up there.”

“Yeah, without you,” Kunhang raises an eyebrow. “No, thank you.”

Yangyang huffs. It’s pointless to argue with him about this, it always has been.

“We confessed to knowing what he did,” Dejun says, returning their attention to the original topic. “But we lied about how long – we said we had known all along, because we knew it was the only way we would go with him wherever they sent him.”

Renjun frowns. “What do you mean? You didn’t think they would send him here?”

“It wasn’t a guarantee,” Dejun explains. “And, honestly? Getting thrown to Earth is better than the alternative.”

It isn’t necessary for Dejun to specify the alternative, since it is pretty self-explanatory.

“They stripped us of our wings,” Yangyang says, softly, quietly, staring at the ground. “And then they took my whip and they…”

His scars itch. Yangyang resists the urge to scratch them, knowing it will only make things worse if he does.

The others don’t seem to catch onto the meaning of his words for a second, but when they do, there’s a hushed murmur of surprise, and maybe pity.

“Oh,” Mark says in a hush. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah,” Yangyang nods. “After that, we fell. We landed in a farm house in the middle of nowhere, where we lived for a few weeks until our wounds healed. Then, we walked to the city, we lived in shelters, then we found jobs. And then we met.”

“And that’s it,” Dejun says. “That’s… what we wanted to tell you.”

“Thank you for listening,” Yangyang says, trying to grin and failing.

“Thank you for telling us,” Taeil tells him.

It’s awkward for a few minutes. Yangyang doesn’t know where to look, or what to say, and neither do the other two angels. Everyone else is quiet, some of them looking at him, the others staring at their shoes or at random spots on the wall. Yangyang hears their pets meowing and barking in the backyard, and at least it amuses him how Jeno instinctively meows back at Ten’s cats.

Yangyang isn’t sure who makes the suggestion to play a drinking game – it might have been Donghyuck, or Ten, or Johnny – but soon they’re all back to laughing, their faces glowing from the alcohol. Even Jisung is a little tipsy himself, sneaking sips from Jeno’s cup, and Jaemin’s, sometimes.

It lifts everyone’s moods, finally. Yangyang can’t stop giggling, sitting on the couch shoulder to shoulder with Yukhei and Sicheng, leaning on Yukhei’s shoulder when he gets sleepy. In the middle of the room, Doyoung and Taeyong are play fighting over the AUX cord, and Johnny’s more or less crawling on Jaehyun’s lap to get smooches from him.

Suddenly, Donghyuck’s crowding into Yangyang’s space, dragging him off the couch and announcing something along the lines of, “Private party in the game room, no boring adults allowed.”

Yangyang allows him to lead the way to the play room on the other side of the house, where Jaemin is connecting his phone to the Bluetooth speakers on the walls. Renjun’s on the couch, giggling to his phone, and Chenle’s swaying in a corner, completely drunk off his ass.

Partying with them is different than with the adults in the room. For one, Jeno, Donghyuck, Renjun, and Jaemin lose all semblance of shame or respect for others, much to Mark’s chagrin, and Yangyang has to look away when the four start dancing drunkenly. There isn’t a shred of decency in their dancing, and Dejun’s face turns redder with every passing second he looks at Jeno and Jaemin.

Yangyang doesn’t have the energy to dance, but he sways to the music with Chenle and drinks every drink they put in his hands. Kunhang and Yukhei play a drinking game on Yukhei’s phone, and Jisung and Mark laugh loudly at whatever.

It makes the night worth it.

~

The next morning, Yangyang wakes up with a pounding headache, the taste of dead fish in his mouth, and a warm body pressed against him.

“What the,” Yangyang groans, opening his eyes briefly only to flutter them closed again when the light hurts him. “Ugh.”

“Please, stop talking.”

“Hyuck?”

“Yeah.”

Yangyang wrinkles his nose. “Dude, you’re sweating vodka.”

“And you smell like tequila. Fuck off.”

“The whole room smells awful,” pipes up Jeno from somewhere in the room. What sounds like Jisung asks them to shut up.

Donghyuck flops on his back, sighing at the ceiling. Yangyang keeps his mouth securely shut, lest he throws up on the bed.

"Did you enjoy your party?" Donghyuck asks. Yangyang hums, bordering on a moan, silently begging the planet to stop spinning. "T'was a good party."

"Yes, Hyuck," Yangyang says to him. "Good party. Now silence."

The silence doesn't last very long. First, it's Jeno meowing softly at Ten's cat, Louis, who's invaded their room in search for snacks. Then, it's Jisung, decidedly less hungover than the others, picking up his phone to play a game.

Yangyang peeks his eyes open. They're in Mark and Donghyuck's room, though Mark is nowhere to be found. Donghyuck and Yangyang are on the bed further from the window — small miracles — and Jeno and Jisung are on the bed opposite theirs. No one else is in the room, although Yangyang catches a glimpse of Chenle's grey jacket on the ground by the desk.

"What the heck did we do last night?" Yangyang groans.

"Shots," Jisung supplies helpfully. "You played, like, three different drinking games. Truth or dare."

"Ugh."

Yangyang does not want to move. He doesn't want to keep his eyes open, nor does he want to think. He wants to burrow under the blankets until the pounding in his head goes away.

"We should go get breakfast," Jeno suggests. Donghyuck moans in protest. "It's the best call, Hyuck. We need the grass to flush out our regrets."

"The only thing that will flush out my regrets is death."

"Stop being so dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic."

"Please, be quiet," Yangyang murmurs.

Jisung climbs out of bed — Yangyang knows it's him from the heaviness of his feet, because Jeno is much lighter when he walks — and exits the room. Yangyang doesn't bother to ask where he's going.

Yangyang drifts in and out of sleep for an indefinite amount of time. Donghyuck naps, too, his nose whistling lightly with every breath, and he guesses Jeno must sleep too.

Until, that is, Sicheng comes barging into their room.

"No," Donghyuck whines. "No, no, go away."

"I'm here to take you downstairs," Sicheng announces. "You need to eat, and after that, you need to shower."

"No, we don't," Yangyang says. "We can stay here all day. Not moving. Or speaking."

That argument doesn't go anywhere. Donghyuck asks Sicheng, bitingly, why he isn't hungover if he was drinking as much as they were, but Sicheng only smiles mysteriously and says they have five minutes to move their butts downstairs.

The only reason Yangyang goes down to the dining room is that Ten, infinitely more gentle, coaxes him out of bed with promises of pretzels.

There aren't any pretzels for breakfast, sadly, but Yangyang watches Ten order them off an app on his phone before settling down for breakfast — lunch, actually.

Half the house's inhabitants are eating still, which would explain why no one went to get them earlier. Jaemin's half-draped over Hansol's lap, letting the older wolf feed him bits and pieces of pancakes, and Renjun's too preoccupied chugging coffee to look up at their entrance.

Yangyang gingerly takes a seat between Jaehyun and Kun, squinting through the headache. Jaehyun's brewing _something_ that smells like dead leaves and vanilla — not a good combination — and Kun's calmly sipping at his tea, completely healthy and prosperous. He didn't drink, obviously.

"How did you sleep?" Kun asks amiably. "I hope you're not feeling too ill."

"Bite me."

Kun doesn't bother to hide his mirth.

Yangyang has his breakfast as slowly as he can, fighting down the nausea and bile that rises to his throat. He hears Mark insist Donghyuck eats something other than bread, but he doesn't look up to see if he succeeds.

Dejun stumbles into the kitchen a while later, trailed by Jeno, Kunhang, and Chenle. They all look worse for wear, which Yukhei doesn't fail to point out when his boyfriend goes to sit with him.

"Where are the others?" Kunhang asks. "Are they sleeping?"

"Johnny went out to get groceries," Jaehyun says, frowning into his smelly concoction, " _again._ Doyoung's with Taeyong in their room, and I think Taeil hyung took Jungwoo out for brunch or something. I don't know about the others, though."

"If they're sleeping," Donghyuck grumbles into his bread — plain, white sandwich bread — with a menacing tone, "I will drag them out of bed myself."

"Eat your bread, baby," Mark says, browsing something on his phone.

The dining area/kitchen falls quiet while they finish eating. Yangyang pushes three more bites of toast past his lips, then gives up and drowns his sorrows in coffee until he can't drink anymore.

~

One hour later, Yangyang allows Donghyuck to cuddle up to him on Yangyang's bed, freshly showered and less dead than they were in the morning. Someone changed the sheets on all the beds while they were showering, too, and Yangyang promises he'll kiss their feet when he learns who it was.

"Don't you have a boyfriend to cuddle with?" Yangyang grumbles half-heartedly. "Or a Jaehyun?"

"Mark's helping Jaehyun with his new spell," Donghyuck informs him. "I looked for Renjun but he's grumpy."

Yangyang laughs softly. Renjun has a high tolerance for alcohol, and it takes a lot to get him wasted, but his hangovers are never pretty.

Donghyuck twists and turns on the bed, settling with an arm thrown over Yangyang's waist. The witch is warm, smells like soap and clean laundry, and he doesn't move much once he's comfortable. Yangyang almost falls asleep like this, except Donghyuck speaks up quietly.

"Does it hurt?"

"Hmm? Does what hurt?"

"Your scars."

Yangyang blinks his eyes open and peers at Donghyuck, though the witch's eyes are trained somewhere on Yangyang's neck.

"Oh." Yangyang considers it before he replies, tracing circles over Donghyuck's shirt. "They used to hurt a lot, when we first fell, but not anymore."

"I'm sorry," Donghyuck whispers.

Yangyang chews his bottom lip. "You wanna see them?"

Donghyuck sits up, gaping. He seems genuinely surprised to hear the offer, but Yangyang notices he isn't against the idea.

"I– really? Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything…"

"Kunhang and Dejun have seen them," Yangyang shrugs. "It's okay."

With that, Yangyang shuffles around so he has his back turned to Donghyuck, and only hesitates for a second before he discards his t-shirt altogether.

He hears Donghyuck suck in a breath, and then he feels the faint touch of his fingers as Donghyuck traces the scars where his wings used to be.

"Would I be the worst person in the world," Donghyuck asks, "If I were to say that I'm glad you're here?"

"How would that make you the worst person in the world?"

Donghyuck retreats his hand, and Yangyang pulls his shirt back on, turning to look at him. Donghyuck's eyes are wide and earnest, perhaps a little too much for Yangyang's comfort.

The boy shrugs, staring at Yangyang. "You had to go through a lot. You suffered a lot. It just… it feels selfish."

"It isn't," Yangyang grins lightly. "I'm glad I'm here, too. You guys have been the best thing to ever happen to me," he chuckles.

Donghyuck smiles, small at first, then it widens until it reaches his eyes.

"I'm happy we met," he says, and Yangyang feels a tiny bit of him sigh in relief when he finds he genuinely means it.

~

If someone had told Yangyang that his first day of college would include meeting an extremely unnerving Japanese spirit, he would've stayed home. Maybe. If Kun would have let him, and if Dejun hadn't been so nervous in the morning that Yangyang had to hold his hand.

"So," he says in lieu of a conversation starter, attempting a grin at his designated lab partner, "I'm Yangyang, and you're clearly not human."

The boy continues to smile, and it's just a touch eerie. Not enough to scare Yangyang, but enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"My name is Shotaro," the boy says, "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, hi. What are you?"

Shotaro tilts his head to the side. Yangyang resists the urge to roll his eyes, waiting for the kid to either confess or act as if he doesn't know what Yangyang is talking about. As if he could fool Yangyang — he's spent enough time with supernatural creatures to sniff them out. He knows the girl at the front of the class is a day walking vampire, and the person sitting toward the window is a selkie in disguise.

"Guess," Shotaro prompts him.

Yangyang purses his lips, his notebook forgotten on the table. They're supposed to be making small talk, getting to know each other, since the professor said they wouldn't be changing partners during the semester, and Yangyang supposes they're doing that. It might not be the small talk she expected, but.

"A Japanese spirit, obviously," Yangyang says, playing with his pen. "I don't know, though."

"You're correct, actually," Shotaro says. "You might have heard of Betobeto-san?"

"No kidding," Yangyang lifts an eyebrow, holding back a snort. "What brings you to Seoul, then? Aren't you supposed to be haunting the roads of Japan, or something?"

Shotaro scoffs, playful. "Rude. There are others to do that, you know? I'm here to study."

"You look about my age," Yangyang points out. "How come you're starting college so late?"

"Why are you?"

 _Touché,_ Yangyang thinks to himself. He concludes he likes Shotaro, even if his presence makes his skin crawl — he guesses that isn't on purpose, more of a habit, or maybe he can't help it, much like how Renjun, Ten, and Chenle can't help but count every grain of spilled salt whenever the shaker meets an untimely death in the kitchen.

(That happens perhaps a little too often to be entirely accidental, but there is no evidence as to who is the culprit.)

Regardless, they spend the remaining fifteen minutes of class discussing their first assignment and exchanging numbers, with Shotaro doodling Yangyang's name into his notebook in sloppy hangul, and it's so endearing that Yangyang forgets about the unease swirling in his guts.

It shouldn't surprise Yangyang that Shotaro asks if he wants to hang out until their next class, which so coincidentally happens to be English — they check their schedules to find they have the same classes, save for the mandatory Sports and Recreation workshop; Yangyang signed up for yoga, and Shotaro for soccer.

"Oh, soccer!" Yangyang grins. "My friend Jeno is on the soccer team, too! He's our age, I think you'll like him."

Shotaro smiles, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. He has the kind of smile that makes his eyes nearly disappear in the folds of his cheeks. "I wasn't sure about joining soccer," he says, trailing after Yangyang, "But I'm not very fond of the other options, so it seemed like the safest choice."

"Honestly? I chose yoga because it's the least extenuating one."

Or so Yangyang hopes. Taeil laughed in his face when he voiced his thoughts, but failed to provide any explanation for his reaction.

"Isn't that on Saturdays?" Shotaro asks.

Yangyang nods, dumping his bag on one of the picnic tables before sitting down. "Yeah, but it's fine. My friend Renjun has a seminar on Saturdays so he said we could ride here together."

"You know many people here," Shotaro teases, and it makes Yangyang laugh.

"Not really, no. Just them — Jeno and Renjun are my housemates, as well as Jisung. Oh, Jisung's a first year, like us, but he has a different schedule."

Yangyang remembers when their schedules were posted on the school's website, and how disappointed he'd been when Jisung informed him they didn't have any classes together, not even the optional one, because Jisung opted for the Arts and Crafts workshop.

That, coupled with Dejun going to Seoul National and Kunhang signing up for Gastronomical school instead, really put a dent in Yangyang's mood. He thought he would spend the whole day, or week, moping over their absence, but this is the first time he thinks about it since classes started.

"What about you?" Yangyang asks him. "Do you know anyone here?"

Shotaro shakes his head, reaching for his water bottle. "No, I just got here from Japan, like, a week ago."

"Your Korean is great," Yangyang blurts out. "A week? Really?"

"Yeah?" Shotaro giggles — does he _ever_ stop smiling? — and takes a swig of his water before he continues. "I practiced a lot before coming here. Thank you."

As the conversations slows to a halt, Yangyang sees Jisung across the quad, chatting animatedly with another boy — a tall boy, as far as Yangyang can tell.

"Oh, that's my friend," Yangyang says. He waits for Jisung to look his way before waving his arms in the air to capture his attention. Jisung's face lights up when he gets a glimpse of him, and soon he's dragging his friend by the arm in Yangyang's direction. "You'll like him, I swear."

Jisung takes the free space next to Yangyang without hesitation, waving to Shotaro as if they've been friends for the longest time.

"Hey! I'm Jisung," he introduces himself, then points at his friend, "This is Sungchan."

"Shotaro," the spirit waves back. "Nice to meet you."

"Are you a first year, too?"

Shotaro nods, still smiling. "Yeah, I'm in the same classes as Jaemin."

"Oh, cool! Sungchan hyung is in all my classes, too."

"Yes, we're all very excited about that," Sungchan speaks for the first time, smiling teasingly at Jisung. "What are you guys majoring in?"

"Engineering," Yangyang replies.

"History," says Shotaro.

"Oh, I'm an Anthropology major, maybe we'll have classes in common," Sungchan says to Shotaro.

The two start talking about their chosen majors for a bit, mere chitchat, and it's then that Yangyang notices something out of the ordinary about Jisung's new friend.

It isn't visible all the time. In fact, Yangyang can only catch a glimpse of it every other minute, and it's always fleeting, but Yangyang isn't a fool.

He sees, swinging behind Sungchan, nine fluffy tails, orange except for their white and brown tips.

Perhaps his surprise is clear on his face, because Shotaro falters mid-sentence and turns to look at him with a concerned frown.

"Yangyang, are you alright?"

"You're a fox!"

Sungchan blinks. Jisung snorts, muttering something about tact and secrecy, but it goes largely ignored — at least, Yangyang ignores him.

"Um," Sungchan stutters. "Yes? I'm a gumiho."

"Nine tailed fox," Jisung supplies helpfully. "They're more common in Japan, but there's been reports all over Korea for centuries."

"I know what a gumiho is," Yangyang says to him, rolling his eyes. _He's not an idiot._ "I was just surprised, that's all."

"And you?" Sungchan asks, tilting his head curiously.

"Merman."

"Betobeto-san."

"Fallen angel."

Shotaro raises an eyebrow in surprise, and Sungchan appears just as shocked. Jisung presses their arms together, an act of silent support.

Before either of them can even think of feeling pity for him, Yangyang clears his throat, painting on a smile, and asks, "So, should we go get something to eat before our next class?"

_**~~~** _

That night, after they've all showered and finished their assignments — Yangyang thinks it's _evil_ to give homework on the first day —, Yangyang crawls under the covers of their shared bed and groans in satisfaction.

"Longest. Day. Of. My. Life."

"Ditto," Kunhang agrees. He flops down on top of him, his wet fringe tickling Yangyang's shoulder. "It was cool, though."

"Mm. I met two supernatural dudes today — they're nice, you'll like them."

"We're meeting them?"

"Of course. Shotaro and I have a project together and Jisung invited Sungchan to study together here."

Kunhang hums, shifting to lie next to Yangyang rather than on him. "Well, I made a new friend, too. Her name's Yiren, and apparently she wants to be a cook as a big fuck you to her family."

Yangyang snorts. Kunhang grins at him, two rows of pearly whites flashing in the dark, and Yangyang pushes his face away.

"What's up with your teeth? Why are they so bright?"

"Oh, Mark's trying out a whitening spell and he asked me if I wanted to volunteer."

"I could see your teeth in the dark."

Kunhang pokes his tongue out at him, and Yangyang reciprocates the action with a giggle. Dejun walks into their room, his shirt wet around the collar, and glances at them with a curious look in his eyes.

"Why so giggly?"

"Kunhang has fluorescent teeth."

Dejun grins quizzically, joining them on the bed. Kunhang makes room for him between their bodies, where they squeeze him in a hug. Dejun tries to shrug them off, especially when Yangyang blows air into his neck, but there are two of them and onlyon one of him.

"Alright, alright, settle down," Dejun laughs. "It's late, we're tired."

"It's barely nine," Kunhang protests.

"Yeah, and we've been up since, like, five? Besides, it's been a long day. We should sleep."

"I don't hear the guys sleeping," Yangyang says, tongue in cheek.

"They're used to college, we're not."

Kunhang sighs, dramatic, but he reaches for the lamp on their bedside table. The room's plunged into darkness, save for the moonlight filtering through the window and the sliver of light under their door.

"This is great, huh?" Yangyang asks.

"It's more than I thought we would have," Dejun says. "Back in the barn house, I mean. I didn't think we would get this far."

"Me neither," Kunhang sighs. "For a second there, I thought we would spend the rest of our lives in that barn."

"Ye of poor faith," Yangyang chastises gently. "We were destined to come here."

"Agreed," Kunhang nods.

Dejun hums. "I don't know if it was fate — destiny or whatever — but I know we were lucky to find these guys."

"We were lucky to have each other," Yangyang says. He means it.

"Look who's getting sappy," Dejun teases him. Yangyang flaps his hands in front of Dejun's face, his cheeks tinging red.

"Oh! I totally forgot, but Jeno has a game next month and we're going for moral support," Yangyang tells them.

"Why didn't he tell us?" Kunhang asks.

"I don't know — you know how he is, he probably doesn't want us to feel obligated to go."

"We're still going, though, right?"

"Of course! Renjun said he was making him a banner. I think we should help, just to make sure he doesn't drown the entire thing in glitter."

"We could go for lunch after," Dejun hums.

"Speaking of: Kunhang, when are you cooking for us?"

"Never."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no im not crying what who said haha ha
> 
> huge shout-out to rose for betaing this chapter for me <3 ily wifey
> 
> if you know me, you know i suck at endings (thank you rose for pointing that out smh) but yeah um. i hope you liked this

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/doitsushine92)
> 
> [cc](curiouscat.me/doitsushine92) in case you have any questions about the au or the characters
> 
> i will be posting this simultaneously to we'll come alive, but i don't know how often 😁
> 
> lemme know your thoughts!!!  
> [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6h6aATs4ToW8HDxXmBvpUP?si=i493CZprS1iFdjXgqT1kBQ)


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